


Wednesday

by mexicanfood420



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Anal, Daddy Kink, Developing Relationship, Dirty Talk, Drunk Sam, Drunken Confessions, Drunkenness, Frottage, Human Lucifer, Hunter's don't exist unless they killin them deers m8, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Masturbation, Past Child Abuse, Porn with Feelings, Professor Lucifer, Rimming, Sam-Centric, Sammy's a lil cockslut for his Daddy, Secret Admirer, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Frustration, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Stanford Era, Student Sam, Teacher-Student Relationship, Underage Drinking, its really fucking gay, theyre gonna fuck a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-04-22 14:37:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 22,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4839155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mexicanfood420/pseuds/mexicanfood420
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>October 1st, 2014<br/>‘Sam... Do you realize how special you are? It’d be hard to think you do. Your beautiful mind is filled with so many incredible things, not even you could fathom the glory and brilliance you possess. You’re one of a kind, Sam Winchester. Never change.’</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was gonna make this all edgy and have a quote or some shit, but I'm too much of ramen-munching disgrace to my parents for that shit. Rating's probably gonna change. Chapter's will probably be around 1k each unless I get lazy, and I'm not sure yet how many this will be. Definitely at least 10. Okay probably 20. Maybe. I don't know. I hope you enjoy reading it, and feedback is really appreciated.

It’d been a few weeks, give or take a month. Stanford’s newest fresh-meat, Sam Winchester, had been absolutely loving his college experience. But, recently, these...notes...had been showing up in the most unexpected places. What notes? Well, Sam was wondering that as well. They went from confessions of undying love unto thee, to just...sloppy, frustrated, sexual ventings of lust and _need_. The notes came every Wednesday. Sam wasn’t exactly sure why, but he did have a few theories.  
  
1\. They had a class together that day.   
2\. Maybe it was to help him get through the week? Wednesday was in the middle of the week. It made sense.   
3\. He was being pranked. Which wasn’t all too illogical, considering what he looked like and how he acted.   
  
Not that he thought about the notes a lot. Or even kept them. But he totally kept all of them.   
The first note was in his literature book. Page _69_ , because apparently this chick had a sense of humor. It was tucked in neatly, his first name scrawled out in too-good-cursive on the top of the folded piece of notebook paper. He opened it up, revealing the letter during class as slyly as he possibly could. It’s not something Sam would usually do, but he couldn’t say he hadn’t been curious.  
  
 **October 1st, 2014**   
_‘Sam...Do you realize how special you are? It’d be hard to think you do. Your beautiful mind is filled with so many incredible things, not even you could fathom the glory and brilliance you possess. You’re one of a kind, Sam Winchester. Never change.’_   
  
It left Sam speechless, filled with confusion and... _hope_. Hope was the best word for it. His heart was fluttering, completely numb to any kind of prank this most likely was. He read over that note at least a dozen times before class was over, and he kept it safe in his inner jacket pocket for the next week because he’s a pathetic little baby in need of love.   
  
He didn’t tell anyone. Not a soul.  
  
The second note was taped to his back. How original. One of his best friends, Charlie Bradbury, was the one to pluck it from his jacket.  
  
“Hm? What do we have here?” She’d asked teasingly, a sly grin making its way onto her face as she started to open up the folded piece of paper.   
  
“Ha-Ha, very funny. Give me that, Charlie.” Sam rolled his eyes, reaching over to grab the paper. “What’s it say? ‘Kick me?’”  
  
“Sam…” Charlie was expressionless, eyes widening as her pupils flickered over the cursive writing. “Cheese and crackers.”  
  
“What?” Sam stared over at her, managing to snag the paper away and begin reading.   
  
**October 8th, 2014**   
_‘I love it when you do that. Today--in class--you explained the theory perfectly. I can tell how passionate you were about it, too. The way you speak, the way you project yourself. It’s all so beautiful, Sam. Your eyes just light up. I’m watching you right now, actually. Your smile...You’re fucking breathtaking. I understand how creepy this must sound, but I honestly couldn’t care less. You deserve to be told how incredible you truly are, Sam. And it’s not like you’ll ever find out who I am.’_   
  
The first one came as a surprise, obviously. As did the next one. But after that...it kind of helped him. Helped him with his confidence, as well as making it to class. With the promise of a little love letter every Wednesday, it really helped him fall into a routine of no no _yes_ no no.  
  
He’d got into soccer again. Practices were just starting, and he’d had more than a few girls ask him various questions. Most involved studying, but a few were just pathetically off-put phrases that usually involved the words, _‘fuck_ ,’ ‘ _hook up_ ,’ and ‘ _bang_.’  
  
Not that Sam wasn’t interested in sex, because, of course he was. He was a twenty year old powerhouse of testosterone and floofy hair. He wasn’t a blushing virgin Mary or anything, definitely not. No way.   
  
The next week was _horrid._ Charlie hadn’t stopped asking about the note, and she finally managed to break him. Sam actually ended up showing her the first one, too. She was convinced it was a boy, but Sam obviously disagreed. Just the handwriting alone made him think it was a girl, probably some nerdy girl who was too scared to talk to him. Not that he’d been thinking about the notes or anything.   
  
Okay, maybe he’d been thinking about the notes just a little bit. But how could he not?! Nothing like this had ever happened to him before. He never even got Valentine’s in Elementary school.   
  
His weekly schedule was so much worse than he thought it’d be. When he pictured college, he saw parties and easy classes that you only need a pencil for. But, he was oh so wrong. The work was horrible, mixed in with his dreaded soccer practices along with some games that his team always lost. He was about to give up. About to drop a class, about to quit the soccer team. But then Wednesday came along, and that next note came.  
  
On his _shoe_. On Sam’s goddamn left gym shoe. It must have happened while he was changing. Had to of. However it did, Sam ended up with a note thoroughly taped to the bottom of his shoe. He waited until he got back to his dorm to read it.  
  
 **October 15th, 2014**   
_‘When I walk into class everyday, the first face I look for is yours. You’re always there before me, always. Because you’re that cute smart kid that everyone wants and wants to be. I’m not sure where I’ll put this note yet. Maybe in the hood of your jacket, maybe in your big jock gym bag thing that you lug around everywhere with you. Wherever this note will be--I’m sure you’re reading this wondering how I did it. Well, Sammy boy, I am very, very sneaky. And you’re too oblivious to see what’s right in front of you.’_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter. But hey. It's early. And I'll post the next on one Sunday still. Probably. I don't know. Enjoy!

“Too oblivious to see what’s right in front of me?” Sam repeated the words aloud for at least the fourth time, trying desperately to figure out what the everloving fuck that meant. Was she speaking in riddles now? Great, just great.

 Sam _hated_ riddles.

He was stumped on this one. He actually considered calling Charlie, but he inevitably decided against it. She’d just insist it was some googly eyed boy who had a crush on him. Which was stupid, because Sam wasn't gay. He just sat on his bed, reading over that note for almost an hour. Eventually, he gave up, heading off to do some homework and attend soccer practice.

The next week went by entirely too slow, filled with philosophical google searches and 3 am weird brain thoughts such as: ‘Why aren’t condoms made with cement so they always work?’ and ‘What happens to shoes when people die?’ and ‘What happens when you stop cutting the grass?’ and ‘Does the lead singer of Train know?”

So, these notes may have been actually driving Sam mad. He could barely focus in class anymore with the thought of who in God’s name had been writing them.

He’d actually been purposely looking at girls’ handwriting during class when he’d gotten accused of cheating.

“Winchester,” Sam’s professor--Mr...What was it? Starbound? Oh, right. He’d told them to call him by the first letter. Which was cool, since his last name was fucking _weird_.

“Mr. M?” He looked up, catching his professor’s bright eyes.

He wasn’t a fun teacher, nothing like that. He was very strict in most cases, too. Many of his classmates had dropped the course after the first day, but Sam couldn’t bring himself to do it.

He’s kind of glad he didn’t.

Mr. M pushed his glasses up, leaning forward and putting his elbows on his desk. “See me after class today.”

The rest of class sucked, but it was a Wednesday.

So Sam smiled.

Nothing important happened after class either, just a small lecture on not cheating. Sam wasn’t really listening, however. He was in his own too-good-cursive filled dreamland. He couldn’t stop picturing her. Probably John Stamos. But as a girl. He was still stuck on that theory.

The note came in the middle of the day. It was in his gym bag this time, which, after the last note, he’d been checking a lot more frequently.

He opened it immediately.

**October 22, 2014**  
‘ _You looked gorgeous today, you know? Those jeans fit you really nice. I couldn’t look at you too much, though. We can’t have you figuring out who I am. I doubt you ever will, actually. It’s not like you ever notice me during class. Even if you did...It wouldn’t be good for either of us, Sam. Anyways, back to you. I spent a while today trying to figure out your eye color. They’re the most beautiful green I’ve ever seen. The way that the golden color just radiates from your pupils...It’s so goddamn incredible, Sammy. I wish I could be closer to them. To you.’_

Sam wanted to fucking _scream_.

 

The next week went by all at once. Sam was falling into a simple rhythm, which, he figured, was good for him. He had a few classes everyday, and soccer practice every other day. He was beginning to like soccer more and more as his team was slowly beginning to not suck as badly.

 

Classes weren’t sucking as much either. Sam was starting to love learning again, like he had before. When it was learning to _learn_ and not to _pass_.

Sam thought it might’ve just been college, but he’d be wrong.

 

He’d been looking at people’s faces more. How other people reacted to him, how they acted when they spoke to him. How they carried themselves. One girl in his class, Maggie Talbot...He’d been paying very close attention to her. She had short brown hair, bright blue eyes, and these dorky purple glasses that Sam couldn’t help but love. She seemed to fit the bill _perfectly_. But it was wrong, all wrong.

He’d been asked by Mr. M to collect everyone’s papers and bring them to him.

And her handwriting was absolutely _atrocious_.

Scribbles of chicken-scratch and horrid looking grammatical errors as far as the eye can see.

Sam had been staring down at her paper when he bumped into a desk and sent the papers flying _everywhere_. And he ended up on his ass.

Laughter echoed through the room. Sam let it phase him. He blushed so hard he was pretty sure you could get a tan just from looking at his face. This shit was only supposed to happen in high school. He couldn’t help but feel a little jipped here.

“I didn’t think you’d have this much trouble performing such a mundane task, Sammy.” Mr. M chuckled, extending a hand down to Sam.

Sam took it, sighing. “Yeah, uh. I was just--”

“Looking at Miss Talbot’s work, yes. I know. Didn’t we just have a little talk about cheating yesterday?” The professor helped his student to his feet, a small smile lingering on his lips.

“I wasn’t cheating, sir. “ Sam spoke firmly, trying to sound sure of himself.

“Uh huh. Sure. This is your last warning, Winchester.”

 

The bell rang right after that, and all Sam could remember feeling was _winded_.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam pays Mr. M a visit.
> 
> It's a mistake.

“Mr. Morningstar?”  
  
It was a Thursday. Sam wasn’t even supposed to be in this building today.  
  
But here he was, knocking on the door of his mythology professor’s classroom. On a _Thursday._  
  
To Sam, Thursday’s were usually his me-day. His free days. The days he slept until noon and then went to his obscure 2 pm creative writing class. And that was it.  
  
But here he was. It was barely 9 am, and he was fucking walking into this room with God-knows what intentions.  
  
What were they again?  
  
Oh, right.  
  
  
He’d spent most of his night prior thinking about, and reading over each note; not doing homework or anything like that. No, he was simply reading over each and every word, desperately trying to find hints or riddles or _something_.  
  
_Anything_.  
  
Finally. Fucking _finally_. He’d stumbled upon something of use. In the last note, she’d said:  
__  
‘It’s not like you ever notice me during class. Even if you did...It wouldn’t be good for either of us, Sam.’  
  
He never noticed her in class.  
It wouldn’t be good for either of them.  
  
Sam read the line’s over and over again, trying to figure out who the _hell_ this could be.  
  
And then it all dawned on him.  
  
Becky Edlund.  
  
She was that girl in class that everyone was scared of. She was this crazy smart girl, completely and utterly insane, complete with weird obsessions and college level high school courses. She’d skipped freshman through junior year, so she was only sixteen.  
  
That would explain why it wouldn’t be good for either of them.  
  
...And for the other part...he really _hadn’t_ noticed her much in class. She was always there, sure, but that didn’t change the fact that everyone really just kind of ignored her.  
  
She was just kind of...there. Sure she was a nerdy girl...But Sam had absolutely no interest in her. He couldn’t say that she didn’t fit the bill.  
  
And he _hated_ it.  
  
  
So, here he was. Standing in the doorway to this classroom.  
  
“Sam?” Mr. Morningstar looked up, eyes widening just the faintest bit. He looked surprised to see him.  
  
Sam surprised himself by being here. “Yeah, hey. Uh. Look, I know I’m not supposed to be here right now and I don’t even have class today, but I need to talk to you.” Sam explained, walking into the room and over to his professor’s desk, leaning over it slightly. He balanced on his palms, biting down on his lower lip as his eyes scanned over his teacher.  
  
He was middle aged...probably. He had one of those looks where he could be twenty-five or forty-seven. It was frustrating to say the least. He had short-ish blond hair, bright...really bright blue eyes, a strong jaw, and just the faintest bit of coarse stubble littering his cheeks. Sam could appreciate the little skin tag he had below his left eye.  
  
Not that Sam found him attractive or anything.  
  
Mr. M was quiet for a few moments, but eventually nodded. “What is it?” He asked, sounding a little...nervous? Apprehensive, maybe. Concerned. Something like that.  
  
“I need to drop this class.”  
  
“ _What_?” Mr. M’s blue eye’s flickered upwards, looking up through his lashes. He looked worried.  
  
“Yeah...I have to drop this course. It’s not your teaching or anything like that.” Sam explained, not wanting him to think that.  
  
“Why?” His teacher may have said that a little too quickly.  
  
“Uh...Is it really that big of a deal? A bunch of other people dropped it.”  
  
“Sam,” Mr. M looked down, took off his glasses and sighed. “Do you realize what potential you have? You really seemed to be enjoying this class. I just don’t understand why you want to quit.”  
  
Sam was quiet for a while, thinking. “It’s not important...I, uh, I’m not...getting along...with one of my classmates. It’s nothing.”  
  
Mr. M looked...relieved. His shoulders fell, seeming to relax.  
  
“Who?” He’d asked, leaning forward a bit. He looked amused.  
  
“No one.”  
  
Bitch face ensued.  
  
“I really don’t wanna name any names…”  
  
Continued, exaggerated bitch face ensued. So, Sam finally gave in.  
  
“Becky Edlund.”  
  
Mr. M _snorted_.  
  
“Really? What’d Ms. Edlund do this time? Oh, let me guess. Did she show you her band-aid collection? Oh, no no no. I know. She has a scrapbook filled with pictures of you, doesn’t she?”  
  
Sam was slightly taken aback by this. He’d never seen Mr. M act this way before, and he’d been taking his class for a while now. He never joked like this, was never anything but a serious _asshole_.  
  
Sam discovered that he liked to see Mr. M smile.  
  
And laugh.  
  
“Yeah...Uhm. No. Nothing like that...I’d just rather not talk about it.” He rubbed the back of his neck nervously, feeling himself start to blush.  
  
His teacher rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair. “Whelp, I can’t let you drop this class. You’ve got too much potential, Sammy. And, hey. You’re the reason I’m still teaching this course, you know? You actually do your work. Which is strange, considering you never pay attention to me during class.”  
  
Sam was silent, just staring down at Mr. M for a few long moments.  
  
“I…”  
  
The professor’s expression completely turned, now looking a little horrified.  
  
Just a little bit.  
  
Before Sam could speak, he saw students beginning to funnel into the classroom.  
  
He bolted out as quickly as he could, never looking back.  
  
Not even when Mr. M called his name.  
  
The way he scampered out of the building reminded several students of a wounded giraffe.  
  
He made it back to his dorm in record time, slamming the door and quickly pulling out the shoebox underneath his bed, reading over every single goddamn one of the notes.  
  
No.  
  
_No_.  
  
This...This couldn’t be happening. It wasn’t…  
  
No.  
  
Sam slept it off. Slept...Slept is a very obtuse word. It was more of just laying in his dorm, staring up at the ceiling. He thought up every possible reason why it couldn’t be...him.  
  
Morning came too soon.  
  
He managed to not think about it for a good twenty seconds.  
  
He’d skipped his creative writing class yesterday due to too-good-cursive induced trauma.  
  
He’d probably be skipping his two classes today.  
  
He most certainly did.  
  
  
The weekend came easily, filled with horrible...gay...thoughts about…  
  
Sam couldn’t bring himself to finish the thought.  
  
  
He didn’t go to mythology on Monday.  
  
  
Tuesday came.  
  
He went to his history class.  
  
Sam was _scared_.  
  
  
Wednesday was next.  
  
Sam went to class.  
  
Mr. M didn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be longer, I promise. It'll be posted next Sunday, maybe earlier. Hopefully you enjoyed this, and if you did, feedback is really appreciated. Comments really inspire me and shit, so thanks to everyone whose said anything to me. Thanks for reading.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philosophical bullshit.

Sam sat in the back row today.

He didn't look up.

Barely mumbled out the word ‘here’ when the substitute called out his name.

It wasn't like he was disappointed or anything.

But he totally was.

 

He was sure it was him. Fucking _sure_.

But...it wasn't. It couldn't be.

Because he got a note. Taped underneath his desk. He wouldn't have even seen it if one of his classmates hadn't dropped their pencil.

**October 29, 2014**  
_'It's strange, isn't it? The way we leave things up to fate. May it be the lottery or a stupid note under some kids desk. We can never predict the outcomes of these things, can we? I don't know if you'll even sit here today, you see? And somehow you found this. ...Or it could be some other kid who has no idea what the hell is going on. Oh well. It's like...It's like a waterfall, Sam. Tons and tons of gallons of water are tossed over the edge every day, yes? Now, replace a few words and you could have some kind of meaningful metaphor. I'm not really one for metaphors, if you couldn't tell. But...You are. You’re really into all that philosophical bullshit. I can tell. Nerd. But hey, it's true, is it not? College is like a waterfall. You’re just born out of nowhere, having absolutely no choice in the matter. It’s sort of cruel, if you think about it. Your parents don’t ask you if you want to be born. Yet they make you grow up and get a job and go to college. It all happens at once, too. A. Waterfall. Constantly tossing kids over the edge and into adulthood, not giving them much of a choice in this world. It's fate, I suppose. Sure, I enjoy being around so much knowledge and learning...But it's tough sometimes. With you here, I mean. I don't blame you for skipping class on Friday and Monday. I would have done the same thing.'_

Sam looked up after reading it, gulping. This...This was all so confusing.

Again with the fucking _riddles._

 

It could still be him. He could have taped it on Monday.

Not that Sam wanted it to be him.

He wasn't gay.

"Samuel," Sam looked up, instantly catching the substitutes golden eyes.

"It's just Sam." He said quietly, looking back down, folding up the note quickly and shoving it into his pocket.

He didn’t want the substitute asking to read that.

"Since you're so preoccupied with that little love letter of yours,"  _God_ , teach. If you only  _knew_. "...why don't you tell us a little about the trickster God, Loki?"

"Uh. Okay. He played tricks a lot..." Sam trailed off, shrugging.

"And?"

"They...They ranged from death to making people fall in love. They were never the same thing and always had some kind of significant affect on the person's life." Sam explained, scratching the back of his neck. Of course he’d been paying attention. No matter how much he didn’t want to admit it. His attempts at being all lowkey and cool always failed.

The substitute, Dr. Saxi, looked somewhat pleased. "Good. Very good. Does anyone have anything to add to Just Sam's statement?"

_Original._

Sam rolled his eyes, simply going back to reading the note while the classroom was engulfed in discussion.

Seriously, what was with the fucking _riddles?_

 

Class let out not too long after that, sending all of Sam's classmates out into the glorious college world of sweat and debt.

Sam stayed behind, however.

"Dr. Saxi?" He approached the substitute, who absolutely refused to use desks correctly. He was sat on the front of it, dangling his short legs.

"Hm? Oh, hey kiddo." Dr. Saxi smiled up at Sam, that ever-present childish grin locked in place on his face.

Dr. Saxi taught some kind of weird chemistry course at Stanford. Today, he apparently wasn't teaching any classes. Which wasn't surprising, considering how many times he's set his classroom on fire.

He had golden hair, matching his insatiable eyes perfectly. He usually wore a white...ish lab coat, but now he was dressed in a simple green jacket with a maroon flannel underneath.

Even in a suit with a damn briefcase this man couldn't look professional.

He was too childish; too fun and even kind of adorable at times.

Sam immediately tried retracting that thought.

"Yeah. Uh, hey. I was...wondering when Mr. Morningstar would be back?" He stammered out, awkwardly adjusting his bag on his shoulder.

"Aw, miss him already?" Dr. Saxi chuckled. "And here I thought I was a fun teacher. I wonder how you kids can stand that douche."

"He's not a douche."

"Uh, right." The professor scrunched up his face a little, probably a little surprised by Sam's statement. "He should be back for your next class. He just asked me to fill in today."

"Right. Okay. Uh...bye." Sam left the classroom after that, darting down the hallway. He turned the corner, pulling out the note as he exited the building.

He sat his bag down on a bench, having walked over to a nearby park. He came here a lot to think. It wasn’t all too crowded or entirely deserted. Good for times or distress and too-good-cursive.  
  
Yeah, like they weren't the same fucking thing.

He sat himself down next, immediately reading over the words in that familiar, beautiful handwriting.

Sam had no idea what he was doing. Absolutely no fucking idea.

Here he was, sitting on a goddamn bench staring at a piece of paper.

It didn’t really matter.

But it totally did.

Because this person...This person obviously cared about him a lot. He wouldn’t say how much, but it also wasn’t exactly hard to tell, either.

It didn’t take long before he was interrupted.

His phone started buzzing in his pocket. Wonderful.

Probably Charlie, saying how gay he was and his secret admirer was totally gonna put his DNA rifle in Sam’s love cage.

He was about to click decline when he saw who was calling.

“Dean?”


	5. Chapter 5

"Hey, Sammy."

 

Sam was a little more than surprised. A little more than shocked, actually.

  
Dean hadn't called _once_ since he left for Stanford.

  
Not even texted, not even wrote.  
  
  
Nothing.

  
Even if he would have, all Sam would've heard was some bullshit about 'deserting the family' and leaving him and their dad.

 

Sam and Dean used to be really close. They really did. But...Sam grew up.  
  
Dean took care of him for most of his life while their father was always away.  
  
Or ‘working.’  
  
Which was almost _always_ code for drinking.

 

He realized that, wow, fathers aren't supposed to beat their kids and force them to do things that kids weren't supposed to do.

 

He wouldn't get into details.

 

"Uh...What's up?" Sam had no idea what else to say.This was the goddamn last thing he expected.

 

"What? No hello? Can't a guy call his little brother at college just to say 'hey?'" Dean replied, sounding genuinely confused.

  
"Uh, yeah. Sure he can. But you're the one who practically disowned me because I didn’t want to be a mechanic, Dean. I wouldn’t even be here if uncle Bobby hadn’t helped me pay for it.”

 

"Hey, hey, hey."

 

"I get it. You wanted to say 'hey.' Can I go now?"

  
"Sammy, listen. I'm...Well, I'm sorry about all that, okay?"  
  
  
 _That_ was a surprise.  
  
  
“What?” He asked, voice stinging with the shock that his brother couldn’t see on his face.  
  
  
“Don’t sound so surprised, Sammy. I’ve had a lot of time to think. Dad’s on a job down in Texas...I’ve been here with the shop. I think he’s gonna let me take over soon.”  
  
  
No matter what, Dean always had to wriggle _him_ into their conversations.  
  
  
“Yeah, Dean. That’s great.”  
  
  
“So, how’s college? You using protection?”  
  
  
Nice fuckin’ segway.  
  
  
Sam sighed, simply rolling his eyes.  
  
  
“Yeah, Dean.”  
  
  
Well, he was sure he would be. If he ever got some.  
  
  
“Good, good.”  
  
  
The two fell into a very, _very_ uncomfortable silence after that.  
  
  
Sam broke it. “You done?”   
  
  
“What, you’re busy with something more important than talking with your own brother?” The older man huffed, sounding almost hurt.   
  
  
Yeah, because him of all people should be feeling hurt right now.  
  
  
“Kinda. Listen, Dean. Can I just call you later or something? I have...homework.” It was a believable enough lie.  
  
  
Dean let out another sigh, obviously not buying it.  
  
  
“Yeah. Sure thing.”  
  
  
The call ended after that.  
  
  
Sam hung up first.  
  
  
  
After shoving his phone into his pocket, he went back to the note, reading it over a few more times and desperately looking for anything that wasn’t a fucking goddam stupid ass riddle.  
  
He failed.  
  
  
  
Thursday was a bust. Not much happened besides sleep, reading, and a stupid filler creative writing class that Sam absolutely despised.  
  
  
  
Thursday night, however, was not as boring.   
  
  
Charlie ended up coming over to Sam’s dorm.  
  
  
The two talked for while, Sam let out all of his petty feelings and horrible thoughts about all these notes, and he might even have cried a little bit.   
  
  
Purely out of frustration, mind you.  
  
  
He even told her about Mr. M.  
  
  
Lots of hugs were given, as well as comforting pats on the back.  
  
  
“You don’t know that it’s not him yet.” Charlie finally spoke up, having been almost silent the entire time she was there.  
  
  
“Who else could it be? Leave it to my sorry ass to get hit on by a teacher.”  
  
  
“It seems like a little more than being hit on, Sammy...And he’s an incredibly handsome and smart teacher.”  
  
  
“Charlie!”  
  
  
“Sorry, sorry. But he is. You can’t even deny it.”  
  
  
Sam was quiet, seeming to think it over. He decided to drop the subject altogether, wanting to think about something other than his predicament.  
  
  
“So, how’ve you been? We really haven’t talked much.”  
  
  
Charlie rolled her eyes.  
  
  
“I’m good, Sam. I...uh. I’m actually seeing someone right now. She’s great, really. You’d like her.”  
  
  
Sam smiled at that, happy for his friend.   
  
  
She’d been struggling a lot with relationships since her last girlfriend dumped her for some dude she met at an Ozzy concert.  
  
  
“Does she go here?” He asked, curious to if he knew her or not.  
  
  
“No, she goes to Berkeley, believe it or not. She’s really something, Sam. I really like her.”  
  
  
Sam reached over, squeezing Charlie’s hand with a warm smile on his face.  
  
  
“I’m so happy for you. You really deserve someone great, Charlie.”  
  
  
Charlie grinned cheekily before hearing her phone start to ring. Her smile only grew wider.   
  
  
“Ooo! That’s her. We’ve got a date tonight. Hate to fly so soon, but beauty calleth! I’ll text you later!” Charlie scampered out of the room after that, looking as happy as ever.  
  
  
Sam smiled as she left, sighing heavily once the door closed behind her.  
  
  
He hoped he could be that happy with someone one of these days.  
  
  
He laid back on his bed, cursing whatever entity stuck him with a goddamn _secret admirer_.  
  
  
  
It was Friday all too soon. Sam got up around the same time he always did, showering before getting dressed with a sense of dread washing through his entire body. He wore his soccer jersey, along with a pair of simple, worn out jeans. He had far too many of those these days.  
  
  
Sam set off for class earlier than he usually would, anxious to see if Mr. M had shown his face today.  
  
  
It really wouldn’t matter if he showed up early, considering how late his professor always was.  
  
  
Sam walked into class first, not bothering to look back at his teacher’s desk before walking over to the back of the class, shrugging off his bag and running a hand through his messy hair.  
  
  
“Sam?”   
  
  
Sam heard the voice, barely able to process it before turning around on instinct alone.  
  
  
There Mr. Morningstar stood, in all his glory, right in front of his desk.  
  
  
He looked different today. He wasn’t wearing his glasses, and he lacked the fancy black suit in the variations he always wore. Now, he was dressed in a simple brown vest with a white button down underneath, and a forest green tie. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, his dark grey dress pants completing it all. His hair was completely blown out, too, looking longer now that it wasn’t painfully brushed down.  
  
  
Sam just stood there stupidly, completely out of his element here. What the _hell_ was he supposed to do?!  
  
  
“Can I...Have a word with you? Several words, actually.”  
  
  
Sam gulped, just nodding before walking over to his teacher.  
  
  
He managed not to stumble this time. **  
  
  
**


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam accepts some things.
> 
> Including an offer.

Sam slowly approached Mr. Morningstar’s desk, his heart thundering away in his chest as he did so.  
  
“Did I do something wrong?” He asked quietly, gulping once he finally got those words out. He'd been swallowing them down for what felt like so long now.  
  
He knew what was happening. You’d be an idiot if you were in his position and didn’t.  
  
Well, a few different things could happen. Either Mr. M could start to desperately apologize and beg for Sam’s forgiveness….  
  
Or, he could completely deny everything.  
  
Sam didn’t like thinking about that option.  
  
There was another option looming around and it was devastatingly obvious.  
  
Mr. M could easily take control of the situation. Just take Sam in his hands, mold him like clay in his palms, bend him over his desk--  
  
“No, of course not. I doubt you’ve ever been in trouble in your life, Sammy. I was going to wait until after class to talk to you, but you’re here early like the little nerd you are, so!” The professor offered a kind smile, swaying a bit and holding his hands together in front of his person.  
  
The air in the room seemed to still completely. Sam was left staring at Mr. M, waiting for his next words like a dog waits for it’s owner to get home after a long day.  
  
“I noticed you weren’t here last Friday or Monday. You missed a test. As you know, I don’t usually allow make ups, but you’ve got potential, bucko. And those extra points will bring you up a bit.” Mr. M shrugged. "Most students are here because they either get pressured by their parents, or are certain they won't survive in society without a college education. But I can tell you fought to be here. You want to be here. And I appreciate that."  
  
Sam just stared. The room was quiet, other than the thumping pulse in the younger man’s ears. He barely remembered to breathe at this point. He was terrified.  
  
He had to just be playing him.  
  
There was absolutely no way this was happening.  
  
It _had_ to be him.  
  
“Sam?” The professor waved a hand in front of Sam’s face, scrunching up his brow a bit in confusion. “You okay?”  
  
“Fine!” Sam squeaked out the word, his face no doubt a bright pink color at this point. “I-Yes. Test. I’ll make it up. When? I have practices Tuesday’s and Thursday’s. And a game on Sunday.” He spoke quickly, barely having any time to breathe at all.  
  
He didn’t know what it was, but something about Mr. M just made him _weak_.  
  
But that was stupid, because Sam wasn’t gay.  
  
And this was his _teacher_.  
  
“I’ll be here tomorrow morning. If you’d be available to come in? No one else should be here, if that’s what you’re worried about.”  
  
Okay, okay. That should not have sounded so inviting.  
  
“Yeah...Tomorrow’s...Saturday! Okay, yes. I’ll be available.”  
  
Sam fully realized how awkward and nervous he sounded.  
  
Mr. M either acted like he didn’t notice, or he just ignored it for Sam’s sake.  
  
Sam guessed it was the latter.  
  
He hated how much this was all affecting him.  
  
He’d barely gotten any sleep in days, and he was almost certain his hair was falling out from how hard he’d been stressing over all of this.  
  
He was finally starting to accept it.  
  
...And he’d most likely need a life changing break down tonight filled with hugs and tears and Charlie. Hopefully waffles and enough scotch to render a hippo unconscious.  
  
“Be here around nine, if you can. I’ve got a meeting at eleven.”  
  
And back to reality we went.  
  
It was interesting how Mr. M’s voice could take him to intense fantasies just as quickly as it could rip him straight back out.  
  
It was a necessary evil, he supposed.  
  
Soon enough Sam heard the sound of footsteps, signaling the stampede of students who funneled in right before class was set to start.  
  
“I’ll be here.” Sam told him, giving him a weak smile before making his way back over to his seat. He quickly pulled out his notebook and a pen, preparing for the oncoming lecture.  
  
He was so screwed.  
  
  
Class was normal.  
  
Sam stared at Mr. M.  
  
Mr. M lectured.  
  
Sam thought about how his voice must sound in the morning.  
  
Groggy, rough, husky.  
  
  
Correction: Sam was not screwed. He just _wished_ he was.  
  
Not that he was gay or anything.  
  
Because he wasn’t.  
  
  
...And he immediately knew it was a mistake to call it in.  
  
“Charlie, we have a code twenty-seven butterscotch. Bring the waffles and--”  
  
“Say no more, Sam-a-lam! I’m grabbing the syrup right now! Stay calm! I’ll bring the condoms and lube! Finally, the day is here, bitches!”  
  
Sam sighed, completely face-palming as soon as Charlie hung up the phone. He shouldn’t have called the twenty-seven butterscotch.  
  
  
A few months earlier Charlie and Sam drew up a ‘friendship list of cool code words to say when the corresponding stuff happens!’  
  
You ‘added the words to the numbers to make it more spy-like. And secret agent-y,’ as Charlie had put it.  
  
Sam made the argument that it just made it look childish but actually a bit more efficient than just explaining the situation, especially in a case like this.  
  
  
The list included, but was not limited to some of the following code numbers and words.  
Numbers:                                                      Words:  
7- I shat myself in class                                Pudding- I do not have the will to clean it up  
13- Squirrel in dorm room                            Whip cream- It is rabid and attacking  
21- So much alcohol I am vomiting               Putin- It’s vodka  
24- I was invited to have a threesome           Marshmallows- They’re both burly men  
27- I think I’m gay                                        Butterscotch- I wanna bottom  
  
The list went on and on, providing directions for each set category and the words that went along with each number.  
  
It only took them a weekend to make, which was surprising, considering how extensive the details were.  
  
But it was okay, because Charlie had assured Sam he wasn’t a loser for taking great care in the greatness that was the list.  
  
...Maybe some of them were a little more biased towards Sam. He couldn’t say that Charlie hadn’t helped him defeat the rapid squirrel in his dorm room with plastic swords.  
  
All in all, he was lucky to have her as a friend. He really was.  
  
Soon enough she was knocking on the door, providing the secret passcode before walking inside.  
  
“We have much work to do, young Skywalker.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. Just a few quick things before you read the chapter. Or just skip this, whatever. But hi. So I'm probably gonna be scrapping this fic. I've been a lot busier lately, and really haven't been too inspired to keep writing this. I might just go on hiatus for a while, not really sure. But, anyways, I'd like to just apologize for the last chapter. I know how shitty and ooc it was. I literally wrote it at 2 am and finished it by 2:30...I just really wanted to get it out on time for everyone. And I've been busy, and I don't wanna make the chapters so shitty, so, probably gonna just give up on this. I don't know. Leave me a comment telling me what you think. As always, thanks for reading.

“Jesus Christ, Charlie...I’m not gay. It’s just that…” Sam swallowed hard, trying to think up the correct words to finish his statement. “I want him to plow me against his desk. And kiss my neck. And fuck me into oblivion. But no homo.”  
  
Charlie was sat criss-cross-applesauce on Sam’s bed, poised and ready as she jotted down notes on her trusty notepad. It was rainbow and said the words ‘gay agenda’ on the front of it.  
  
“I see.”  
  
“Am I gay?”  
  
“Hella.”  
  
  
That pretty much ended it. Sam had actually kind of begun to accept it; however strange it may be.  
  
They were quiet for a long, silent while before Sam inevitably broke the silence.  
  
“This is insane. I can’t--I don’t even know if it was him!”  
  
“Oh, come on, Sam. It’s obvious. You two are totally--”  
  
“Don’t say it.” Sam cut her off, looking down at the ugly tan carpet of his dorm room.  
  
His hands were placed firmly on his hips, squeezing. He didn’t want to think about all this right now. It’s all he did anymore.  
  
But, he did totally ask for it.  
  
“You don’t even know what I was gonna to say.”  
  
It’s true. Charlie could have said a number of different things.  
  
Nothing Sam wanted to hear, however.  
  
He refused to think of this as anything other than a prank.  
  
He just couldn’t.  
  
  
Charlie left a little after midnight, thoroughly stuffed with waffles and copious amounts of liquor.  
  
Sam still hadn’t figured out how she always managed to sneak that stuff onto campus.  
  
He didn’t think much tonight. He laid in his bed, staring up at the peeling paint of his ceiling.  
  
His bed was college comfortable. The kind of comfortable that’s way too uncomfortable for normal, real life standards, but just heavenly for college kids.  
  
And probably perfect for getting fucked on by your hot mythology professor.  
  
Sam grabbed his pillow from underneath his head, immediately putting it over his face and doing his absolute best to smother himself.  
  
  
Saturday morning came all at once.  
  
Sam was almost late, for starters. He woke up around 8:30 since his alarm decided, hey, I’m gonna be a dick and not work today.  
  
He showered as quickly as possible, and ended up darting out of his room practically half dressed.   
  
He was in a pair of his most ripped and holy jeans, along with his tautest track and field t-shirt from high school.  
  
It wasn’t even his fault.  
  
Okay, well, maybe he hadn’t done laundry in a few weeks.  
  
But it wasn’t his fault.  
  
  
Sam made it to Mr. M’s class by nine.  
  
He fucking did it.  
  
Albeit a little drenched in sweat, but still. He made it.  
  
Heck yeah.  
  
Mr. Morningstar was bent down, currently fumbling with some papers in the filing cabinet next to his desk.   
  
He must’ve hear Sam come in.  
  
Or the slight panting.  
  
“Ah, Sam. Just on time. I’ll grab your test. Just take a--” Mr. M looked up, eyes instantly widening as they raked over his body.  
  
Or maybe Sam just imagined that part.  
  
“Seat. Take...Take a seat.”   
  
And Sam did.   
  
He crossed the expanse of the classroom, rubbing his sore temples a bit as he sat down in the middle of the room.   
  
Mr. M was over just a few moments later, handing the test to him.  
  
“Take your time. You’ve got two hours, kiddo.”  
  
 _Kiddo._  
  
Sam wanted to crawl up in a closet somewhere and _die._  
  
  
The first thirty minutes went by rather smoothly. He was sailing through the questions as always, only stumbling on a few. And this was a long ass test.  
  
Of course it was.  
  
All of Mr. M’s tests were long as dicks.  
  
...Sam immediately regretted that thought.  
  
  
“How’s the test going?” He heard his professor ask, who was absently drumming on his desk as he graded papers.  
  
Sam was caught a little off guard by the question, having to remind himself that, _wow_ , teachers _do_ ask their students that.  
  
“S’fine.” Sam tried to sound smooth, but it just came out a bit awkward.  
  
Mr. M seemed to notice.  
  
“Are you sure? Nothing I can help you with?”  
  
Oh, fuck.  
  
Fuck, fuck, fuck.  
  
“I’m good.”   
  
Sam was anything but good. Absolutely anything.  
  
Every little thing that his teacher was saying could be interpreted in so many different ways, and it seemed like they both knew it.  
  
He had to.  
  
“You don’t look it.” He said plainly, giving him complete and total bitchface.  
  
“I’m fine. I’ll be done soon and out of your hair, okay?” Oh, how he wanted to just sink his fingers into that gorgeous blond hair and--  
  
“I told you. It’s no problem. I don’t have any classes today, just a meeting at eleven.”  
  
Sam’s eyes dropped back down to his desk, distracted already. He couldn’t stop thinking about him. About those blue eyes of his, about that glorious, sex hair and the fucking suit he had on today was friggin’ _phenomenal_.  
  
And he was right fucking _there_.  
  
It took all he could not to stare.  
  
He tried his best to focus on something else. Anything else, since the test was out of the question at this point.  
  
He hadn’t even realized he’d been chewing on his pen, alternating between tapping it against his plump bottom lip and slightly biting the tip of it.  
  
“ _Winchester._ ”  
  
Sam immediately looked up, gulping. What the hell caused him to use that tone of voice?  
  
Whatever it was, Sam was sure he’d do that again.  
  
He needed to hear that voice more.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Stop it.”  
  
“Stop _what_?”  
  
“Biting your pen. That’s disgusting. Do you know how many people’s _filthy_ hands have been on that thing?”  
  
Cheeky _bastard._  
  
This just wasn’t fair.  
  
Sam was almost at his limit.  
  
The fucking tension in the room.  
  
If you tried to cut it with a knife it’d be like chilled butter.  
  
“Sorry. Habit.”  
  
“Just get back to testing.”  
  
Mr. M seemed more frustrated than anything. Maybe because Sam was taking so long, maybe because he wished there was something else in Sam’s pretty little mouth.  
  
No homo, tho.  
  
  


 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr. M is a cheeky lil bastard.
> 
> Sam feels the effects.
> 
> Thoroughly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The response I got in the comments last chapter kind of blew me away. Really inspired me to keep writing and junk. But, yeah, still don't know what's going on with this fic. Thanks for the awesome comments, guys. It really helps to know that you're all there.

The tension seemingly died down a little after that. Sam managed to focus on his a-little-over-half-finished test, totally not doodling little hearts in the corners or anything.

 

Except he totally was. All he could think about was the man sitting at the slightly cluttered desk just some odd ten feet in front of him.

 

"Mr. Morningstar?" Sam's voice was so much higher than he'd been hoping for.

 

He sounded like a fucking thirteen year old.

 

"Hm?" Mr. M didn't look up, seemingly too busy scribbling on someone’s test.

 

"I'm having a little trouble with this question."

 

Mr. M turned his head for only a moment, wearing an amused smile.

 

"I somehow doubt that."

 

"Then why would I be asking?"

 

"Why _are_ you asking, Sam?"

  
A pause.  
  


"Because I need help."  
  
"With?" 

  
His professor's response was almost too quick. It was like he always knew exactly what he was going to say and do next.  
  
  
It honestly kind of scared him.  
  
  
Didn’t excite him at all.  
  
  
Nah.

 

"This. Problem." Sam retorted, trying to make himself sound more clear.

 

"No you don't." Again with those smug ass responses of his.

  
Sam would play along.  
  
  
For now, at least.  
  


"Okay, okay. Say I don't."

  
"Then what _are_ you really asking for, Sam?"  
  
Mr. M looked _too_ smug. Like he knew something Sam didn’t.  
  
He may think that, but Sam absolutely knew.  
  
Well, he knew that he had fucking half-chub right now from this barely-conversation he was having with his teacher.  
  
Mr. Morningstar wasn’t even looking at him.  
  
But, there was no escaping the truth. Sam’s cock had begun twitching to life the moment he saw Mr. M bent over and rummaging through his filing cabinet when he’d first walked into his classroom.  
  
And his tight, holey-ass jeans were not helping.   
  
“Never mind, sir.”  
  
Mr. M seemed to perk up at bit at that proclamation.  
  
He realized it must’ve been his imagination.  
  
It was silent for almost another half hour.  
  
Sam was caught staring at his teacher _twice_.  
  
Nothing really came of it, just a sideways grin or a smirk if he was lucky.  
  
Sam couldn’t help it. He alternated as he stared at him, scanning his eyes down his jaw or over his hairline or even down the bridge of his nose. Not to mention his eyebrows were always on fleek. He didn’t know why, really. Why he stared at such strange places on the man’s face. He’d looked at his eyes way too many times already, maybe. Not to mention his fucking lips. He’d memorized them both by now.  
  
The way that they sometimes curled up into a smile when someone answered a question right or did good on a particularly hard exam. Or the way they looked when he was lecturing.   
  
They were really pink.  
  
And his lower one was bigger and stuck out just a little bit more.  
  
Days of long lectures were his favorites.  
  
They looked absolutely sinful against the blond backdrop of his tiny hint of stubble.  
  
It’s like when you get one random pink Nerd candy in a box of purple ones.  
  
Sam had never seen him clean shaven before, or with a full out beard for the matter.  
  
He liked that.  
  
Sam wouldn’t even start on those cheekbones of his.  
  
  
There was absolutely no good goddamn way absolutely any of this was innocent.  
  
When he did get caught, the looks that Mr. M was shooting at him were made of pure sin.  
  
His head would turn just so slightly, eyes dangerous.  
  
Then his mouth would curl at just one edge.  
  
And that was it.  
  
But, still, Sam’s junk was slowly becoming heavier and heavier in his jeans.  
  
He did his best to ignore it, looking down at the test below him.  
  
He finished soon enough. Honestly a little half-assed, but it was the best Sam could do at the moment.  
  
Now, here comes the fun part.  
  
Standing up.  
  
Sam just sat for a while, staring at the clock and gnawing on his lip in attempt to distract himself.  
  
It was quarter til eleven.  
  
He thought about the three D’s.  
  
Dead puppies. Dean having sex. Donald Trump.   
  
Yep. That seemed to actually work a bit.  
  
Sam managed to will away his hard on for the most part, standing up with his finished test in hand. He shrugged on his bag, walking forward to his teachers desk.  
  
“All done?” Mr. M’s glasses were resting at almost the tip of his little round nose, looking right up at Sam without moving his head as he approached him.  
  
“Y-Yeah.”   
  
God fucking dammit.  
  
Mr. Morningstar only chuckled.  
  
He extended his hand, taking Sam’s test.  
  
“I’ll have this graded and back to you by Wednesday.”  
  
Sam gulped.  
  
“Not Monday?” He asked, curious.  
  
At the rate Mr. M had been grading those other students tests, he’d expect to have it back sooner.  
  
He gave Sam a warm smile, pushing his glasses back up his nose.  
  
“I have a life too, Sam.”  
  
 _Idiot._  
  
“Yeah, of course. Sorry.”  
  
The professor didn’t say anything after that, simply turning back to his laptop screen in his wheely chair.  
  
“Oh.” Sam couldn’t have sounded more stupid. “I, uh, I’ll go now.”  
  
“You do that.” Mr. M didn’t look up, continuing to type away on his keyboard.  
  
“Right. Sorry. Uhm, bye!”  
  
To say he ran wouldn't be fair.  
  
He power-walked out of the classroom, immediately turning the corner and sliding down the wall outside Mr. M’s room.  
  
The hallway was blessedly empty.  
  
He ran his hands through his hair, pulling it lightly and groaning.  
  
He was so fucking screwed.  
  
  
Again, he wished he was.  
  
So he fucking did something about it.  
  
He went back to his dorm, closing and locking the burgundy door behind him.  
  
He let his bag fall to the floor.  
  
It didn’t take long before he was palming himself through his tight jeans, barely audible, breathy gasps falling from his slightly chapped lips.  
  
His head was lolled back, eyes shut.  
  
He was doing this. Actually fucking doing this.  
  
Sam was going to jerk off.  
  
To the thought of his _teacher_.  
  
He was going to Hell and the Devil was gonna make him his bitch.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brace yourself.

It’s not like Sam had never jacked off before.

He had been a teenager at one point.

And girlfriendless for the last year or so.

So, you could say Sam counted on his right hand for almost all of his sexual pleasure.

But this… This was all too different.

He really didn’t think about certain people when he masturbated. He usually only did it for the feeling. And the occasional stress relief.

Contrary to popular belief, Sam was no blushing virgin.

He’d gotten a handjob once junior year of high school.

Okay, so maybe he was a virgin.

But just a little bit.

And he wasn’t blushing.

Well, not now.

All the blood in his body was currently draining from his cheeks down to his cock.

He was lucky if he didn’t get a little light headed when he got hard.

 

Sam laid himself down on his squeaky, college dorm room bed. He didn’t bother with pushing the comforter down, simply laying flat on the dark blue fabric.

He gulped, his large hand slowly running down his clothed chest. Sam closed his eyes, taking a few deep breaths before moving further downward.

The fingers of his right hand teased the blue hem of his fraying shirt, just lingering there for a few moments as he truly thought about what he was about to do.

“Screw it.”

Sam pulled the shirt over his head, tossing it into the hamper on the other side of the room. He closed his eyes again, swallowing hard before moving his hand back up his chest. He started to tease his left nipple, biting down hard on his lip as the thoughts began to flood into his mind.

In his head, he was in Mr. M’s classroom. He was sat up on his teacher’s desk in just a pair of thin, baby blue briefs. There were papers underneath him, one probably his test from earlier. They were rough against his skin, digging into his hands and sides of his ass as he squirmed.

His professor was sat down in his wheely chair in front of him, legs spread wide as he looked up at Sam. Those grey dress pants clung to him so right in all the right places.

It wasn’t like he’d expected. He was staring, no, staring is too harsh of a word. He was gazing up at him. Not like he was a piece of meat; like he was a treasure. Like he really meant something. Like he was the last of some extravagant endangered species. Like he was something to be praised and worshipped.

Mr. M’s eyes still managed to look dangerous, though he was being looked at with such passion that was reserved for royalty.

His hand was on his thigh, tapping his fingers a bit in a nameless rhythm before he reached up and began to play with Sam’s pink little nipple.

Sam let a small whine fall from his lips, using his free hand to unbutton his jeans and kick them off so they were balled up down at the end of the bed.

His touches were gentle, testing out the waters here. He ran his thumb gently over his peaked bud, sighing breathily before rolling it softly between two fingers.

He didn’t see himself doing this. He only saw Mr. Morningstar.

His blond mess of hair, his too-straight, surely ironed out black tie, his bright blue, icy eyes.

Sam wanted absolutely nothing more than to touch himself.

But, deep down he knew that Mr. M would want to control every little aspect of this.

And Sam liked that.

The more he thought it over, the more he wanted to be dominated.

God, that sounded so gay.

He took another deep breath, letting the scene continue to play out in his mind. Mr. M ran a single finger down Sam’s torso and over his slight bit of ab definition, smiling amusedly up at the boy.

His eyes were twinkling, filled with admiration and pure, unadulterated sin.

Turns out, he pulls off that look very well.

Sam was panting, absolutely fucking desperate.

“Never knew you were so gorgeous under those clothes, Sammy.”

Sam could hear his smooth voice so clearly in his head. It was like this was really happening.

In Sam’s world, it most definitely was.

He was caught up in all of it.

The sheer intensity of something that wasn’t actually happening.

He hadn’t even fucking touched himself yet.

His cock was _throbbing_.

Just from the thoughts in his mind, the pure sin lacing around the words he spoke.

Eventually, they meshed in with the sounds of Sam’s moans.

All dirty whispers and passionate, beautiful sweet nothings were lost in a sea of breathy pants and whimpers.

Sam was barely aware that it was his own hand touching his dick, rubbing himself desperately through the thin garment he’d chosen to wear.

He slowly slipped his hand down the front of the blue colored fabric, shuddering as he finally wrapped his long, soft fingers around his pulsating member.

“A-Ah… Professor…”

That is when Sam realized it.

He was a gay little slut just begging for his teacher to touch him.

Sam Winchester was no longer in control of his movements or even his thoughts, for the matter.

His briefs were gone soon enough, landing somewhere across the room. He’d pick them up later.

His hand was working feverishly on his pink, swollen cock. He ran his thumb gently over the leaking tip, bucking his hips upwards.

Sam was moaning. He knew he was.

Moaning like he usually didn’t.

Breathy, squeaky whimpers were falling from his dry lips.

Wanton, strangled whines.

He was too caught up in all this, caught up in the images in his mind and the feelings that processed their way onto his skin somehow.

He could almost feel the rough, specific callouses on Mr. M’s smooth hands.

Every little move he made resulted in another heaping of pleasure, only stoking the slow burning fire in his lower abdomen.

He knew he was moaning.

Moaning his teacher’s name, at that.

He didn’t much care.

He couldn’t help it.

It’s not like Mr. Morningstar could actually hear any of this.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, words before this chapter happens. This is a bit different than any of the other chapters, so don't freak out and hurt me or anything. Literally have no idea where this fic's going. Haaaaaaaaaa. Enjoy, you weirdos. <3

It was out of Milky Way Bars.  
  
 _Fucking_ Milky Way Bars.  
  
The good gosh dang damn vending machine was out of Milky Way Bars.  
  
Every single day for twelve years, Lucifer Morningstar had gotten two Milky Way Bars every single day from his prized Venco vending machine.  
  
One at the beginning of the day to nibble on in between classes.  
  
...And one to accompany his lunch of Pizza Lunchables and Kool Aid.  
  
But, for some reason unbeknownst to him, his precious baby was out of order.  
  
There was thin, yellow sticky note taped to the front of the dulled, warn out glass.  
  
"'Out of order' my ass, Benedict." The teacher grumbled out, pouting infinitely at the rusty machine gracing the presence in front of him.  
  
This had happened once before.  
  
He knew what he must do.  
  
...After a feeble attempt to sneak one out of Dr. Saxi’s desk, the professor was faced with a decision.  
  
A) Run.  
  
B) Don’t get the Milky Way Bars.  
  
C) Scream.  
  
D) Exert energy to walk up a flight of stairs to retrieve a Milky Way Bar from _another_ vending machine.  
  
 _A_ would require effort.  
  
 _B_ was not an option.  
  
 _C_ was kind of unproductive.  
  
...And _D_ it was.  
  
It kind of disgusted him.  
  
He set off on his adventure after a long, horribly drawn out meeting with the boss man.  
  
Chuck Benedict was a pretty chill dude.  
  
To everyone but him.  
  
And only when he wanted to change something.  
  
Which was always.  
  
The damn point of having these meetings was to discuss change!  
  
And, when Lucifer suggested anything, Chuck shot him down.  
  
No matter what.  
  
And it _infuriated_ him.  
  
He'd threatened to quit at almost every one of the meetings.  
  
But, he dealt.  
  
With the promise of his fucking candy bars for afterwards.  
  
But now.  
  
At lunch time.  
  
He had no Milky Way Bar.  
  
He blamed Chuck, of course.  
  
This was all a conspiracy against him, surely.  
  
Those new janitors were flawed, easily breaking his precious baby Venco vending machine.  
  
...Well, maybe he was taking it a bit too far.  
  
Meanwhile, back in the scratched perfection in the glass of his reality, he steady strolled down the hallways of a college dorm building.  
  
Because, guess what!  
  
The other goddamn vending machine was broken too!  
  
Gradually, the professor made his way to the next nearest proprietor of his sweet snacks.  
  
The entire hallway smelled like piss or beer.  
  
Both, probably.  
  
Definitely both.  
  
Lucifer refrained from throwing himself down the third flight of stairs he’d been forced to climb up, groaning when he finally made it to a functioning machine. It was at the end of a hallway, barely in the center of the back wall.  
  
He wasn’t OCD nor anywhere close to a math professor, so it didn’t much bother him.  
  
The red wallpaper was chipping and peeling pretty bad, showing that this was obviously one of the hallways that _hadn’t_ been used in those fancy brochures handed out at rich, southern California high schools.  
  
The door on the left was obviously in the middle of something quite intimate from the steady creak of the shitty college dorm room bed springs, while the one of the right was busy thumping to another rhythm.  
  
The floor was pounding, evident sounds of a college party.  
  
The piss and beer smell now made a little more sense, too.  
  
It was a Saturday, and Lucifer couldn’t really blame them.  
  
It’d been a while, but he, too, had been a college kid once.  
  
...He had been a lot more like the person on the left.  
  
Not that he was some kind of man-whore or anything.  
  
It’s just that the nineties were poppin’.  
  
And gays still weren’t accepted.  
  
So, when you found someone to screw, you screwed as much as physically possible.  
  
Brushing off the memories, Lucifer sighed and shoved a couple dollar bills into the machine.  
  
He figured he should probably stock up.  
  
Those janitors were monkeys at best.  
  
“A-Ah… Professor…”  
  
Lucifer’s bright blue eyes widened at that, roughly pushing in the almost-faulty buttons with a practiced strength, obvious muscle memory being used.  
  
He scoffed, silently wondering which one of his coworkers was stuck with some student lusting after them.  
  
That was a big no-no.  
  
Sounded tempting, too, considering how nice the dull noises he could hear sounded.  
  
He tried not to jump to immediate conclusions, but he was almost certain he knew that voice.  
  
The professor chose to ignore it, just letting out a shaky breath.  
  
He pushed back all the thoughts in his mind quite easily, having had to practice the task multiple times a day during Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.  
  
And, uh, Saturdays apparently.  
  
Again, he focused on his soon-to-be-snacks.  
  
They were pulled down one by one, squealing with the dull spring that sent them dropping haphazardly onto the cold, steel floor of the machine.  
  
It happened right when he excitedly bent down to grab his delicious prizes.  
  
“Oh, shit, fuck yes. M-Mr. Morningstar… Ah, God! Faster!”  
  
The kid sounded like a goddamn _pornstar._  
  
Not one of those trashy ones.  
  
The ones that barely get paid anything.  
  
The ones that are forced to actually enjoy it just so they can  _feel_ like they got something out of it.  
  
You know, the big sausage pizza ones.  
  
Or the step-dad ones.  
  
Okay, so maybe he did watch too much porn.  
  
But Lucifer knew that voice.  
  
He’d heard it in his classroom just a little while ago.  
  
And now, here he was.  
  
Jerking off.  
  
Thinking about _him_.  
  
Only him.  
  
At this point, not even Lucifer knew what his feelings for Sam Winchester were. He cared for Sam, he knew that much. He wasn’t sure how much, or if it was enough to rule out some lust-filled screw over his desk.  
  
He’d thought about that way too much.  
  
Especially recently, since he was almost completely sure Sam had figured out it was him writing the dumb notes.  
  
And, here we arrive back at the creepy old man problem.  
  
As of this moment, Lucifer now had a few choices.  
  
A) Run.  
  
B) Scream.  
  
C) Jerk off like a perv in the hallway.  
  
D) Knock down the goddamn door and ram the kid into the fucking wall.  
  
He chose to run.  
  
Teacher-Student relations are a big deal.  
  
He knew a few teachers who’d gotten fired, along with a handful of horny twenty year olds who’d been kicked out of  Stanford altogether.  
  
And he knew Sam.  
  
He was a smart, intelligent, all around good kid.  
  
There was no way in _Hell_ he was about to damage a future for him.  
  
He couldn’t do it.  
  
He just had to be _sneaky_.  
  
So, yes.  
  
Sam was a good kid.  
  
But, Mr. Morningstar planned to change that.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please lemme know if anything in this chapter is confusing or horrible anything. Because the povs are dumb and idk lemme know.

Life went on.

Well, the weekend did.

Life just kind of… Slowed down.

Lucifer went back to his apartment at a weird, half-jog kind of pace. He had his trusty half-melted Milky Way Bars practically completely smashed in his sweaty palms.

Oh, and his half-chub was a thing as well.

Sam continued to jack off to the thought of his hot professor every single fucking chance he got, even experimentally pressing a finger to his hole to send him right over the glorious edge.

Not to mention he was totally screaming his teacher’s name when he came.

Not to mention it was the best orgasm of his fucking _life_.

Life was pretty strange.

…And then Monday came.

Obviously this was more of a struggle for our horribly morally conflicted teacher, but poor little ignorant Sam felt just as embarrassed the moment class started.

Mr. M was late as always, strutting in with a sleek black suit that cradled that gorgeous body just _perfectly_.

Sam did his best to refrain from drooling.

And he managed.

His mouth went completely dry.

As did Mr. M’s, who ended up shoving about six tic-tacs into his mouth before he started lecturing for a feeble attempt at getting his saliva glands back up and running.

They made eyes contact only twice, lucky for Mr. M, because all he could hear in his head was those beautiful, breathy little pants from his perfect little Sammy.

Naughty, dastardly positions he'd been deprived of.

Sammy’s lean, long fingers plugging up his tight little hole.

On Sam’s end, he was sweating.

He wasn’t hot or anything, not in his thin Stanford t-shirt and pair of jeans.

His face was on fire. He was sure it was as red as a freshly sucked hickey.

He was convinced that Mr. Morningstar’s hotness was literally heating up the entire room around him.

Especially when he got close to him, which didn’t happen too often today.

Mr. M usually walked around the room when he lectured, scanning everyone’s faces and making sure they all understood the material with the practiced face-reading that all good teachers had.

That hadn’t ever been a problem for Sam, but it did make him feel a little left out when his teacher just skipped right over him.

He brushed it off.

Mostly.

“Winchester.”

Here we go again.

“Sir?”

Ahem, cue the squeaks.

And the awkward throat clearing from Mr. M.

Huh. That was new.

“Who is the God of fire?”

You know that one asshole teacher you had in ninth grade that asks completely irrelevant and off topic questions while lecturing about something completely different?

That was Lucifer in a nutshell.

“Uh…”

The sound of Mr. Morningstar chuckling was always one of the most beautiful things Sam got to hear.

It was the kind of smooth that was reserved for butter and new calendars.

“Eros?”

Again, there was a small laugh from the teacher, one of those tiny, barely-there ones that totally made Sam shudder.

“Really, Sammy? Eros is the God of love and lust and all that jazz. Can’t stop thinking about the naughty for five seconds, can you?”

Half the classroom got quiet, half erupted into a cloud of laughter.

It wasn’t unusual for students to get a little naughty with their teachers at Stanford.

Especially ones that looked like Mr. Morningstar.

Be it for the grades or for the looks, it happened.

A lot.

And, now the rumors would start all over again.

Sam turned into a complete blubbering mess after that, unable to think let alone speak properly.

“N-No! I just… I thought-!”

“Hephaestus is the God of fire. Write it down. It’ll be on the exam.” Lucifer spoke sternly, but he was smiling at Sam.

He looked downright mischievous.

Sam, on the other hand, was sixty-nine shades of baboon ass.

Class didn’t last much longer.

Lucifer ended it with saying a few more things about a few more Greek God’s, looking at Sam dead in the eyes as he explained the various duties of a Greek God.

Those big, hazel eyes made Mr. M fucking _melt_.

The way they just sucked Lucifer in was one of the reasons he actually started writing those dumb little notes.

Speaking of, he was _totally_ screwed.

Before he could even finish the thought, class was dismissed and every student funneled out.

Including little Sammy.

Lucifer’s heart lurched after him.

 

Sam went to soccer practice immediately after class, which was normal and honestly kind of boring anymore.

He was carrying the team for sure, his growing strength and speed making him a pretty good player.

So, it’d be fairly boring.

That is, until, a certain someone asked him out on a date.

It happened right after practice had finished.

The girl had been on the sidelines the entire time, laughing absently with a group of people while they all looked at Sam.

It wasn’t completely unusual for other students to hang out in the stands; especially if they had a significant other playing.

Easier to have sex under the bleachers afterwards.

It was honestly the last thing he was expecting.

She approached him when the final whistle was blown, trudging over onto the field in her clumpy heels like a pro.

Sam looked behind him, thinking she was walking up to greet someone else.

He was pretty sure he actually went into shock when he realized _she_ was talking to _him_.

“Hey, Sam right? You’re in my Thursday class.” She was a perfect blonde, complete with curls and a wad of gum in between her teeth.

“Yeah.” Sam sounded almost breathless, completely unbelieving.

Sam didn’t get girls.

Sam got athletes foot and weird crushes on old dudes.

“Yeah, like, I was wondering if you’d wanna take me out tomorrow night? I totally saw you looking at me in creative writing the other day. Practically gushing.”

Amber Peters was one of the prettiest girls at Stanford.

And she’d just asked Sam out.

On a date.

“You mean… You mean like a date?”

It didn’t hurt to clarify.

“Yeah, totally! So… Is that a yes?”

“I-I…”

Was it a yes?

This had all completely thrown Sam through a loop.

And he didn’t have time to explain his… Crush?… Relationship?… A little less than innocent admiration of a sexy college professor-itis?

“Yes.”

Mr. M and Sam weren’t going anywhere. That couldn’t happen, and deep down Sam knew it was only just some dumb fantasy.

“Cool! Meet me at the Coupa Cafe at the Green Library tomorrow at six.”

Amber kissed Sam’s cheek quickly before scampering off, going back over to where her friends were and starting to laugh all over again with them.

Sam couldn’t help but be excited.

This was just what he needed to get over… Whatever it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanK YOU FOR READING I LOVE YOU


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> guys what the heck are we feeling

Sam had never been asked out on a date before, so he carried the shock with him up until 5:30 pm the next day.

He'd have to start getting dressed soon and get down to the Green Library.

And it was all finally settling in on him.

Sam Winchester had been asked out by the prettiest girl on the Western side of the United States.

He had absolutely no idea where to start. He tried on a few outfits, ultimately deciding on something a little less... Flannel.

He was donned in a pair of his least holey jeans and his only black button down by 5:47 pm, running a hand through his mess of hair before shielding it down against his scalp with a black beanie.

He _hated_ beanies.

After pulling on his boots and giving himself a once over in his mirror, he set out by 5:53 pm.

His dorm was fairly close to the Green Library and he knew he'd be early, but he couldn't stop himself.

And he wouldn't put it past Amber to be fashionably late.

But he really didn't care.

He was going on a _date_.

In all his gangly-ness and barely-there-stubble-ness.

He made it to the cafe at 5:56 pm, unable to shake the smile from his face when he grabbed a seat near a window.

He looked out it, so excited to see his date walking inside to meet him.

 

Sam knew something was wrong when an hour passed.

He'd initially began to worry at around a half hour, but figured it was just Amber caught up in the traffic of the later classes.

An hour and a half passed, next, and the inevitable was accepted.

He'd been stood up.

He had a mind to leave at 8 o'clock.

He really did.

But, of course, little Sammy always was one to hold onto hope.

Which was absolutely ridiculous in this situation.

But, he stayed for a while longer.

He was kind of glad he did.

"Sam?"

God, that fuckin' voice killed him every time.

Lucifer knew he shouldn't've even approached Sam, but he couldn't help himself.

He'd been in the café too, nursing his coffee for about a half hour before he noticed the boy.

Sam looked up, eyes widening.

"Professor?"

"Jesus, Sam. We aren't in class. You can call me by my first name. It's Lucifer, if you hadn't heard from your classmates." The teacher laughed a little, but it sounded almost bitter. "I'm sure you've heard them call me 'Satan,' at least."

For just this reason, he really never told people his real name.

It wasn't that Lucifer was ashamed of his name, per se. He was ashamed of what people thought immediately after hearing it for the first time.

But Sam seemed so different.

He barely had any type of reaction at all, let alone a bad one.

He sat down across from Sam, coffee still in hand before taking another small sip.

He let out a pleased 'ah' kind of sound when he finally set the beverage down on the red, chipping paint of the table.

"This seat isn't taken, is it?"

Sam let out a deep sigh.

"I guess not."

Mr. Morningstar-- _Lucifer_ was quiet for a few moments.

"Can't imagine anyone'd ever stand you up."

He absolutely regretted it the second the words left his lips.

Sam looked up, eyes widening at the statement his teacher had just proclaimed to him.

Just good 'ole false hope.

"Really?"

"You're kidding, right? You're, uh, really smart and athletic and you've got awesome hair. Speaking of--"

Lucifer reached across the small table, ripping the beanie off of Sam's head and holding it out in front of him before letting it fall to the table.

"I barely recognized you with that thing on. And you're not wearing flannel. I'm only a little bit terrified."

Sam could help but laugh a teeny bit.

God knows he needed that right now.

"So, who was this mystery man of yours?"

"I'm not gay." The words left Sam's mouth before he had any kind of chance at stopping them.

Mr. M just stared for a few moments, furrowing his brow.

Lucifer wanted to laugh, honestly.

"Uh huh. So, tell me about this mystery girl."

"Amber Peters."

"Jesus Christ."

There was another long silence, in which Lucifer ran his finger along the rim of his mug, chuckling and shaking his head.

"Really, Sam? Do you always go for the crazy slutbags?"

"No."

"Hah. Now _that's_ a good one."

Sam turned his head, pulling his gaze away from the glorious God of a man in front of him, looking out the window again.

" _She_ asked _me_ out."

Lucifer chuckled.

"She may be the stupidest human being I've ever taught."

"As opposed to... Aliens? Vampires?"

Another chuckle.

"Something like that."

"Don't tell me it was Greek Gods."

Sam discovered that he liked Mr. M's genuine smile more than he loved his laugh.

He wanted to make him smile more.

"No. No Greek God's."

"Thank God." Sam tried his luck again, looking back over to Lucifer with a lopsided grin.

Lucifer rolled his eyes.

"Okay, that one was bad."

Sam simply shrugged, letting out a soft sigh. "What are you even doing here?"

"One of my brothers works here. Thought I should pay him a little visit."

Sam looked down at the table, pulling at a peeling edge a bit absently.

He didn't like talking about brothers.

"Sam?"

He must've been quiet for a too long.

"Huh?"

"Something bothering you? I mean other than getting stood up by the most popular girl at Stanford."

Sam glared.

"What? It's true."

Sam sighed.

They just sat in a sort of comfortable silence for a while, sipping at their respectable drinks every so often.

Sam had ordered a coffee and a muffin at some point, and he couldn't help but see the striking similarities between this and a date.

Except it wasn't a date.

It was just Sam and his teacher. Talking about... Things.

"--yeah, I'm not joking! It was my second year here, I'm at a party, tons of girls everywhere. Booze, drugs, sex, the life. There was this one guy, he was, I don't know, probably streaking with the other naked people. And he's jumping on the couch, yeah? He hits his head on the overhead fan. Blood everywhere. I'm covered, the guy passed out, and I'm trying to fix him. Put all the blood back in, y'know? So, I'm scooping up handfuls of blood and probably fractured skull and trying to put it back in his head. But, since I'm completely high off my ass, I'm convinced I just got my period. So then-- Hey! Don't laugh! There was blood all over my pants! It was a logical assumption!"

Sam snorted, laughing so hard his stomach was threatening to burst.

"This didn't happen."

"Yes it did! You can ask Dr. Saxi. He was the naked dude that busted his head open all over my carpet and pants!"

Sam sighed and simply shook his head in disbelief before glancing down at his watch. He jerked up straight, a look of total fear on his face.

"Shit." Sam cursed aloud, eyes frozen on his watch.

"Is everything all right?" Lucifer asked, reaching across the table to Sam.

The student shook his head and began gathering his stuff.

"I'm sorry Mr. Mornin- Lucifer. I have a paper due tomorrow and I haven't started yet and oh god it's already ten and I don't even know what format to write in and I really don't even know what the hell class I'm taking that I need to write this for but I need to go. Thank you for talking with me, and I'll see you tomorrow!" Sam rushed out, picking up his belongings and half-running out the door, leaving his dishes on the table.

Lucifer sighed, not having time to say goodbye to the kid, and picked up the forgotten plate, taking it over to the washing bins.

As he dumped out the half-eaten muffin, Mr. Morningstar realized Sam had forgotten his beanie in his rush.

He swiped it off of the table and headed out the door after paying, looking around to see if there was any chance that Sam was still in the area.

Of course he wasn't.

Damn those giraffe legs.

He'd have to give it back to him on Wednesday.

... _Or_ _maybe_ _not_.

He clutched the hat close, looking down at it almost longingly.

It smelled like Sam.

Maybe he wouldn't miss it for another few days.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this fics gonna get a co-author soon or whenever this goddang site gives him an account. He basically just mostly gives me ideas and I write them, but he helps out a bunch. Enjoy the chapter I love you

“Are you kidding?! That was totally a date! I bet if you would’ve stayed longer he’d have asked to have a twenty-four marshmallow!”

Charlie and Sam were currently having one of their legendary bed discussions, the lesbian was sitting up on Sam’s pillow while the hopelessly gay bottom sat down near the edge of the bed with his knees pressed tight up against his chest.

“No it wasn’t. All we did was drink coffee and talk about… Stuff. And that totally wouldn’t happen.” Sam could feel himself beginning to blush. “I haven't even thought about that.”

Mr. M would probably want Sam all to himself.

Sam realized his argument was becoming less and less believable.

And valid, for the matter.

Because that’s kind of totally what a date is.

“He told you about his past. You got friggin’ Satan to open up to you! Ooo, what do you think the note today will be like? Something naughty? Cute? A confession of his undying lo--”

“Charlie! I told you, it’s not him. It can’t be. I thought we agreed to drop that?”

“Well, too bad! This is big, Sam. You two are going to get married and have twelve kids! When are you seeing him next, anyways?”

“I have to get to class in an hour. Speaking of, get out.” Sam smiled a little up at Charlie, but it did look kind of forced. “And I know there isn’t going to be a note.”

“Oh, hush up. And I meant your next _date_. You’re always such a negative nancy, Winchester.”

Sam couldn’t help but cringe slightly when anyone but Mr. M called him that.

“Yeah, guess so.” He sighed. “And it wasn't a date. So, never.”

Charlie got up off the bed after that, straightening out her jacket before placing a hand on Sam’s shoulder. She looked down at him, eyes filled to the absolute brim with her infinite amount of lesbian wisdom.

“Wear a condom.”

“Charlie!”

Charlie left soon after, sly grin never leaving her cheeky face.

Sam really did appreciate Charlie and all that she did for him, but he couldn’t help but get frustrated with her at times.

Especially when they talked about the topic of his confusing as fuck sexuality and his goddamn Daddy!Dom of a Mythology professor.

Speaking of, Lucifer was having a just as frustrated time dealing with his innocent little perfect baby twink of a Mythology student.

He meant Sam, of course.

Sam, Sam, Sam.

His beautiful little Samshine.

The Sam with perfect hazel eyes and silky brown hair. The Sam that he very well may lose his job over. The Sam who’s beanie he was currently holding hostage. The Sam who gave him a half-assed boner anytime he even thought of the kid.

The Sam who he had a boner for right now.

The Sam who he’d be seeing in fifteen minutes.

Now, he could either deal with his ‘problem’ the fun way now, or think about Dr. Saxi bleeding out on his carpet now and deal with it later.

_Definitely_ the second option.

And, as anticipated, the gorey memories did the trick.

Periods are fuckin’ gross.

With ten minutes to spare, the horrible excuse of a Mythology professor began his walk down the semi-short hallway to his lecture hall.

He got there kinda early today, honestly just wanting to see Sam again, maybe strike up a conversation about the mystery essay he’d had due.

The previous day had been goddamn incredible.

He hated himself for what had happened, but he couldn’t find it in himself to regret it.

And he wouldn’t.

Every moment he spent with Sam Winchester was nothing he would ever regret.

Sam… Sam was so bright and cute and sweet all around positively lovely.

And he always smelled good.

He still had that dumb black beanie, too.

_In his fucking desk._

That’s not creepy at all.

 

Class went about as boring as it could, with Mr. M simply repeating off practically-memorized facts and questions about Ancient Greece and other things of that nature.

Sam seemed more distracted than usual, most likely from his lack of a Wednesday note.

Lucifer sighed quietly, seriously hoping none of his students picked up on the small emission.

He prided himself on being as professional and well kept as possible, however obscenely ironic that statement may now be.

Just because he had a desperate crush on a student didn’t mean he was a bad person.

Except it totally did.

Sometimes Lucifer wished he’d kept just a little bit more of his ‘fuck you, mom, I’ll do what I want’ attitude from high school.

But, sadly, he’d become a sad, rule-following, practically-a-pedophile, piece of shit teacher.

Mom would surely be proud.

 

“Winchester.”

“H-Huh?”

“Are you _sleeping_ in _my_ classroom?” Lucifer demanded, hands on his hips and eyebrows raised.

“N-No sir.” Sam replied, shifting around in his seat a little uncomfortably.

He'd just jerked awake and was pretty sure he'd given himself whiplash.

“Then what did I just say?” The teacher hissed, obviously irritated as he sassed his student.

Sam sat still for a moment, then decided to be ballsy.

“Are you sleeping in my classroom?” He replied, sassing right back.

The whole classroom erupted into a bunch of _ooo’s_.

Mr. M bit his cheek and huffed angrily.

“See me after class, Winchester.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> shit happens idk drank
> 
> this is long dont fuckin get used to it <3

As it turns out, Mr. M was just concerned.  
  
Sam wasn’t in trouble at all; even after he sassed his teacher.

 

“Sam, I could tell you weren't yourself today. If you need to talk to someone, talk to me.” The teacher spoke seriously, currently sitting on the edge of his desk. “I can try my best to help you.”  
  


His voice was laced with worry.

  
“You don’t even know me.”  
  
The words left Sam’s mouth before he even knew what he was saying.  
  
They stung his lips almost immediately after, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth that would surely stain.

  
Lucifer didn’t seem as stung as Sam thought he’d be.  
  
He was just as calm and collected as normal.  
  
“You’re right, I don’t. I don’t know anything about you. Nothing besides your grades and the fact that you hate wearing beanies. Speaking of--” Mr. Morningstar pulled open one of the drawers of his desk, pulling out said beanie and tossing it to Sam.  
  
“You left that last night.”  
  


The statement sounded a lot less innocent than it really was.

  
Sam was too busy being in actual fucking shock to catch the beanie.

  
He’d looked down when Lucifer had opened the drawer, spotting something he really didn’t think he thought he would.  
  
There was this tiny little purple bottle of Astroglide lube.  
  
Mr. M either didn’t care, or didn’t notice Sam had seen it.  
  
He turned, face going a bright pink as he bent down to pick up the beanie he’d let fall to the floor.  
  
And, that is when Lucifer got his best look yet at Sam’s perfectly round beautiful ass.

 

He had to have done that on purpose.  
  
The younger man soon stood back up, shoving the hat into his back pocket.  
  
“We done here?” He asked, sounding irritated or annoyed or both.  
  
Lucifer sighed, placing his hands on his hips like he was about to say something.  
  
But, he didn’t.  
  
He just waved a hand, signaling for Sam to leave with an exasperated sigh.

  
And, fuck, did he.  
  
He practically bolted out of that building and right into his dorm room.  
  
...And he went online, immediately buying himself some purple Astroglide lube.  
  
He made sure to select the fastest shipping option and try not to feel as pathetic as he was.  
  


  
On the other hand, Lucifer was alone again.  
  
Shocker.  
  
  
Speaking of shockers, most people wouldn’t assume college professors go out and drown their horny sorrows on Wednesday nights.  
  
Welp, Mr. M was a lot more pathetic than most people knew, and he absolutely wasn’t above it.  
  
So, here he sat, two doubles in and feeling so dead to everything around him.  
  


It was all so dull, so… Rounded to him.

  
That is, until he heard a familiar voice somewhere in the area around him.  
  


  
  


“Come on, baby. Just one night. Promise I'll make it worth your while.”

 

Jesus Christ.

 

“Dude, I'm gay. This is my girlfriend.”

 

“Oh. Cool. Here, I'm gonna give you my friends number. She's a lesbian too!”

 

“Please get away from us.”

  
  


Lucifer could barely believe what he was hearing.

 

That was the voice of Sam Winchester.

 

The gayest bottom to ever bottom.

 

Hitting on.

 

Females.  
  


In a bar.

 

He's like.

 

Twelve.

  
  


Eventually, the poor sap gave up. He left the girls, walking over and sitting himself down at the bar.

 

Right next to his professor.

 

“One whiskey, please.”

 

What the _fuck_.

 

The bartender gave Sam a weary look, but eventually complied and got the kid his drink.

 

“Sam,” Lucifer started, turning his head and swirling the half-empty drink in his hand. “I'm only going to ask this once. _Why_ are you _here_?”

 

Sam looked amused, smiling over at his teacher.

 

“I could ask you the same thing.”

 

“Sam.”

 

“I needed a drink.”

 

“You're… What? Eighteen?”

 

Lucifer honestly wouldn't be surprised if Sam was seventeen and skipped a year of school or something.

 

He was insanely smart.

 

“I'm twenty.”

 

“Bullshit.”

 

Sam chuckled, still smiling when he was brought his drink. He'd had a few already, and he was definitely feeling it.

 

“How the hell didn't you get carded?”

 

“I did.”

 

“...Oh, Sam. Don't tell me.”

 

“Yep! Fake ID.”

 

Well, innocent little Sammy wasn't so innocent.

 

The young man was grinning, taking a long sip of his beverage.

 

He coughed, but managed to keep it down.

 

“Christ, take it easy, kiddo.”

 

Lucifer ran his finger along the rim of his glass, looking down at the dingy, brown liquid in his cup and tried not to wince.

 

“You're not my mother.”

 

“Hm. No, I'm not. But I can be your daddy.”

 

Both men were silent after that, but Sam was pretty sure Lucifer would be able to hear his rapid beating heart.

 

Lucifer was too tipsy to care, honestly.

 

And he was pretty sure Sam was too.

 

He apologized anyways.

 

“Sorry.”

 

“No… It's okay.”

 

 _That_ was unexpected.

 

There was another long silence between the two men.

 

Lucifer ordered another drink, downing it in one go.

 

Sam barely finished the one he had.

 

But, as it seems, he was more drunk than Mr. M had initially thought.  
  
Sam Winchester was a surprisingly coherent drunk.

 

“Mr. Lucifer?”

 

He chuckled a little at that. Mr. Lucifer. This kind of cute.

 

“Yeah, Sam?”

 

“Have you ever thought about having sex with me?”

 

Lucifer almost choked on his drink, coughing wildly but managing to swallow the numbing liquid.

 

“Sam… Why would you think that? I'm your _teacher_.”

 

“ **I** bet you wanna fuck me, though. My ass is really tight. I touched it.. I've never gotten fucked before, you know, you were totally right about the virgin thing. And I was blushing!”

 

Lucifer’s face was beat red, heat probably radiating off of it.

 

“Sam. Stop it.”

 

“I saw the lube in your drawer next to my beanie. Did you jack off while thinking about me? Did you smell the beanie? Did it smell like me?”

 

“ _Sam_.”

 

“I know you did. Did you do it in your office? God, I bet you thought about just bending me over and taking my little ass over your desk!”

 

Lucifer slammed his glass down onto the bar, surely cracking it. He grit his teeth.

 

“Stop.” He growled, eyes darkening as he stared over at Sam.

 

“God knows I have. ‘Specially when I think about your voice and your eyes.” Sam smirked, eyes wandering from Lucifer's eyes down to his hands, which were wrapped around his glass so tight Sam worried he'd break it. “And your hands. What they could do to me. Mm. Yeah.” He was slurring his way through his words, barely able to make coherent sentences.

 

“Sam,” Mr. M finally released his cup before he could completely smash it, turning on his stool to face Sam.”Did you drive here?”

 

“Why? Did you wanna take me home? You're hot.”

 

“Answer the question.”

 

“Yeah. I drove here.”

 

“Fuck. Alright, listen, I'm not sober enough to drive you home.” Lucifer looked down, questioning his own morals for a few moments before sighing. “My place isn't far from here. You can stay there for the night and I'll take you home in the morning.”

 

“You want me to come home with you?”

 

“Not like how you're thinking.”

 

Sam sighed.

 

“Okay.”

  
  


Somehow, fucking _somehow_ , Lucifer managed to get the moose of a man to his feet. After he had an arm wrapped around the older man's shoulders, it wasn't hard to help him down the street. They walked for what seemed like hours, constantly stumbling and tripping on air. When, in reality, the walk only took about ten minutes.

 

Eventually, they arrived at Lucifer’s home.

 

After practically dragging Sam up a few flights of stairs, he was as exhausted as the man he was carrying.

 

Sam was suddenly very sluggish, barely able to make steps by himself.

 

The entire way there was filled with less-than-innocent touches from Sam, and so many goddamn naughty whispers Lucifer thought his head might explode from his frustration.

 

He'd swat his hands away and tell him to shut up, but that didn't stop him.

 

Lucifer did his best to ignore him, but it was hard when a giant drunk man is trying to either get in his pants or braid his hair.

 

Frankly, Lucifer had absolutely no idea where such an innocent boy could have even heard some of the words he was saying.

 

As soon as the two of them were inside, Lucifer shut the door behind him and locked it. He was panting, struggling to get Sam into his bedroom.

 

“I feel sick.”

 

“Oh, God. Please don't vomit on me. Please.”

 

Sam giggled, flailing his arms around a bit until he could wrap them around Lucifer’s waist.

 

The older man just kind of stood there, eyes wide.

 

“Why are you hugging me?”

 

“Because.” Sam nuzzled his face against Lucifer’s neck, giggling and smiling. “You're soft. Wanna hug you all the time. You're so hot.”

 

The teacher sighed, prying Sam off of him.

 

“I'll go get you a garbage can and some aspirin.”

 

He left after that, doing said tasks and bringing back the items, along with a large glass of water.

 

“Drink.”

 

He held out the beverage to Sam, to which he took it and took a small sip.

 

“Drink more. Trust me, you’ll feel better in the morning if you do.”

 

“I wanna feel it in the morning. Wanna feel it all week when I sit down.”

 

“Sam.”

 

Lucifer sighed, setting the trash can down next to his bed, putting a bottle of aspirin on the nightstand, along with the half empty glass of water.

 

“I'll take the couch. Try and get some sleep, kiddo.”

 

“Noooo. Stay with me.”  
  
Sam was leaning half-against a wall, barely able to hold his head up.  
  
He was fucking whining.  
  
Lucifer walked over to him, again allowing Sam to wrap an arm over his shoulders. He carried him over to the bed, laying him down with a sigh.  
  
“I sleep naked.”  
  
“Not my problem. Now, shut up and go the fuck to sleep.”  
  
Lucifer rubbed his temple, already feeling the beginning signs of a migraine.  
  
“You didn’t say the magic word.”  
  
The older man groaned, shaking his head and pinching the bridge of his nose.  
  
“Please.” He grit out the word, wanting nothing more than to punch out his own teeth.  
  
Sam seemed rather pleased with himself after that, giggling a little and rolling onto his side.  
  
Once Lucifer was sure he was free and started to walk out the door, the little shit spoke up again.  
  
“Aren’t you gonna tuck me in?”  
  
Sam was going to actually drive him insane.  
  
He could practically feel the wrinkles forming on his forehead.  
  
“Will you shut up and sleep if I do?”  
  
“Hm… Probably. Maybe. Perhaps. I don’t know. Depends on how comfy you make me.”  
  
Lucifer sighed, turning around and grudgingly walking back over to the bed.   
  
He pulled a blanket up over Sam, tucking him in probably a little too tight. He roughly pushed his fingers together, sliding them under Sam’s body to effectively tuck him the fuck in.  
  
“Can I leave yet?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“What else could you possibly need?!”  
  
“Don’t sass me. You didn’t even fluff my pillow.”  
  
“Goodbye.”  
  
Lucifer managed to leave the room after that, turning off the lights and closing the door behind him. He walked out into the living room, tripping over Sam’s shoes in the process.   
  
He silently wondered how the hell he got them off without him noticing.  
  
...And what else his student may have done that he hadn’t picked up on.  
  
He eventually shook off the thought, stumbling the rest of the way over to the couch and falling face first.  
  
Lucifer sighed deeply before finally closing his eyes, drifting off into a restless slumber.  
  
  


 


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Goddamn eggs and feelings.

The next morning started all at once.

Lucifer was awake before Sam was, begrudgingly getting up off the couch and padding into the large kitchen of his luxury apartment. He made a pot of coffee, breathing in the uplifting smell of the bitter liquid.

The blond let out a few yawns, stretching his arms above his head and lazily slapping his lips together.

He hadn’t given much thought to the man-- _his student_ \--just a few rooms away probably snoring in his peaceful, pre-hangover slumber.

God, that kid didn’t know what was about to hit him.

Lucifer wasn’t too hungover, really, just a dull headache that was fleeting faster and faster due to the glorious smell of coffee engulfing his kitchen.

He rubbed his temples anyway, letting out a tired sigh.

This morning was about to get very interesting.

 

Sam, on the other hand, awoke with by far the worst headache of his entire life.

His head was pounding, the sound of his own blood thumping away in his ears.

The brunette groaned, sitting up in bed and pinching the bridge of his nose.

It took him a few moments to open his eyes.

He was met with a rather expensive-looking bedroom, complete with a way too comfortable bed and, _oh god_.

He’d been sleeping on silken sheets.

This bed probably cost more than Sam did.

Next, he made the mistake of looking to his left, instantly met with a window and a view of the entire city.

It was fucking gorgeous.

He could see for miles, see all the buildings that got smaller and smaller as he brought his gaze to the horizon.

The sun was already up, stinging Sam’s sensitive, bloodshot eyes painfully.

He couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Lucifer?”

Sam was saying the word before his brain had even realized where he was.

His voice was a lot more hoarse than he’d expected, too.

Dry and uneven.

When no one came, or probably didn’t hear him, he looked to his right, seeing a bottle or aspirin and a glass of water.

Immediately picking up the glass, he took a long sip of the stale liquid. He grabbed the pills next, downing two along with the rest of his beverage.

He swung his legs over the bed, and wow.

That fucking hurt.

After a few more moments of vigorous self discovery, Sam realized that _everything_ hurt.

And, after even more self discovery, Sam realized he was still wearing his clothes from the night before.

 _God_.

The night before.

Leave it to Sam to get drunk and taken home by a fucking hot piece of ass and wake up with his clothes on.

After a largely exasperated sigh, Sam managed to get up on his feet, albeit wobbly, but still managed to put one foot in front of the other. He found a bathroom that connected to the bedroom, wandering inside and doing his business.

He washed his hands, leaving immediately after that.

He was not interested in seeing himself in the mirror.

“Good morning, Sammy.” Lucifer could hear the little pads of Sam’s feet ever since he left the bathroom, smiling over his shoulder at him when he finally entered the kitchen.

He looked adorable.

His hair was sticking up on every end and Lucifer had never seen a cuter sight.

Sam groaned in response, running a hand through his incredibly untamed mop before taking a seat at the island.

“Ah, Sam. What poetry you speak. I had no idea you were such a morning person.” The blond was currently bent over the stove, stirring some scrambled eggs and adding just a hint of salt.

“I had no idea you were a cook.” Sam’s voice was still groggy, and his brain was barely processing any of this.

He was still somewhat dead to the world.

“It’s eggs, Sam. Everyone can do eggs.” The younger man didn’t respond, just laying his head down on the nearest flat surface.

“How’s the hangover?”

“Bad.”

“Figures. Your poor liver lost it’s virginity pretty hardcore last night.”

Sam chuckled in response.

“It’s got me beat, I guess.”

Lucifer was the quiet one after that.

 

Soon enough the food was finished up and the older man dished out two plates of it, along with two mugs of coffee. He sat them down in front of Sam, smiling and handing him a fork before sitting across from him.

“Why does this seem so…” Sam couldn’t find the right word to finish his question.

“Domestic?” Lucifer finished for him, offering up a small chuckle and a smile.

“Yeah.”

“Don’t know. I don’t usually bring home students from dingy bars.”

“About that. Yeah, uh, how… How exactly did that even happen?”

“You were drunk. And I’m a semi-responsible adult.” He looked down, moving his eggs around with his fork before finally bringing some to his lips and taking a small bite. He chewed as he spoke. “I couldn’t just leave you there like that. Someone could have lured you into an alley and just..” Lucifer’s grip tightened on his fork, gritting his teeth together as he swallowed. “It doesn’t matter. Just, don’t fucking do that again, alright? Don’t _ever_ go to a bar by yourself. Or without other people knowing where you are. You shouldn’t have even been there in the first place! You’re not even legal!”

Lucifer shook his head, taking another bite of his eggs and looking down with narrowed eyes at his plate.

Sam was only a little bit in shock. His eyes were wide, staring over at the man across from him.

“I didn’t think you cared that much.”

The words left Sam’s mouth all at once, having barely any control over them.

His teacher’s eyes flickered upwards after that statement, not moving his head an inch.

“ _What?_ ”

“I-I didn’t… I know you don’t care about me. Not like how I… Want.” Sam looked down, cheeks flaming pink as the literal goddamn word vomit escaped him.

He realized that this is what it feels like to let your heart do the talking.

And, to a boy like Sam Winchester, that was a thing he’d never experienced before.

“Sam,” Lucifer’s eyes were locked on the man in front of him, looking dangerously serious and completely stone still. “What are you talking about?”

“You care about me because I’m a student and you have to. Not because… Not because you…” Sam swallowed down any doubts he had, exhaling out all his control and just fucking saying it. “You care about me because you have to. Not because you want to. Not because you want me. Not because you want to be with me. But, because I’m your responsibility. And, if I got chopped up into a thousand pieces in an alley somewhere, you wouldn’t wanna be on the murder suspect list for being near the crime scene or knowing me or whatever.”

There was a period of complete silence, Lucifer just staring over at Sam while Sam sat there looking way too smug.

The fucking kid thought he was right, and it honestly made Lucifer sick.

He stood up from the island, walking around it and sitting down right next to Sam. He was still quiet, turning in his chair to face the other man. He reached out, taking Sam’s hand in his own.

“Sam…” His voice sounded almost broken. “I can’t believe you’d think that. I thought… I thought you realized what my feelings are for you. I thought you’d figured it out.”

Sam was still staring down at both of Lucifer’s hands wrapped around one of his own, brain desperately trying to process the things that his professor was saying.

After a long while, he finally managed to speak.

“You care about me?”

“God, Sam. I thought you were smarter than this.” Lucifer shook his head, sighing. “I’m gonna go grab something, alright? Finish your eggs and drink some coffee and try not to vomit.”

Honestly, he couldn’t believe he was doing this. But, here he went, walking off to the door of his apartment.

After pulling his jacket off a coatrack, he pulled a neatly folded piece of paper out of the pocket.

He looked down at it before sighing again, making his way back into the kitchen.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things be happenin'

This note was unlike any other one.

The differences were notable and barely visible all at once.

This one wasn't so neatly written, definitely lacking any too-good in his cursive.

It looked like he'd written it in a frenzy.

And, well, he had.

He'd completely poured his damn heart out into this note.

And, now, Sam had it in his hands.

Lucifer wasn't fluid nor graceful during the handoff, simply just sticking it out in front of Sam with an expressionless look on his face.

Sam's eyes were big and doe-like, filled with the same look as a child receiving his most anticipated gift on Christmas morning.

_**November 5th, 2014** _

_'I've come to a recent conclusion, Sam. It's not sappy, promise. Alright, it is. But for good reason. You like sappy, don't you? I mean... I kind of imagined that you do. Not that I think about you a lot. Who am I kidding? I think about you all the time, Sam. All the damn time. Right, right. I know this must be creepy, but, well, I thought it was time to stop this whole note thing that we've both been disgracefully dancing around.'_

Sam look up from reading, feeling his eyes start to water just a little bit.

He couldn't help it.

This was actually happening.

It was _him_.

He was staring at Lucifer now, smile so wide and genuine he feared his cheeks might tear.

He felt so damn good.

Sam hadn't remembered smiling this much in a long, long time.

Lucifer allowed himself to breathe, comforted to the high heavens by Sam's reaction.

The younger man looked back down at the note, eagerly continuing to read.

_'Well, you see. I've been thinking a lot about people like us. We tend to stay away from parties unless our insanely inappropriate and sometimes mischievous brothers make us go. We fight with them a lot, but they're always there. Sometimes. I don't know your situation, Sam. I only know what little you told me about Dean and your father earlier tonight. I'm writing this right after I got home, and I'm sitting here with your stupid beanie that smells like your dumb duffel bag, pizza, and used textbooks. It smells just like you and it's damn near intoxicating. Again, putting my creepiness aside, believe it or not, we're really similar, you and I. Other than the obvious hair differences, we barely differ at all. Daddy issue filled little brothers with hot, tight bods.'_

Sam, who had been only in a slight precious state of shock, couldn't help the little chuckle that escaped his lips at that last part.

He was honestly fucking relieved.

And he couldn't help the delightful flutter in his chest.

Because, holy fuck.

This was actually happening.

_'I hope you smiled reading that. You've got the best smile, you know? Just the way your cheeks dimple up and teeth shine out. You're beautiful, Sam. Absolutely gorgeous. I can't get enough of you. And I never will, you can bet your sweet little ass. Speaking of, I know what you were doing the other day. I'm calling it a happy mistake instead of fate this time. Anyways, you have the sweetest little moans and--'_

Sam's eyes went wide, looking up at Lucifer in horror.

The blond stared back, desperately trying to figure out what goddamn part of that note got him to react like _that_.

He'd written it all in his hopped-up-Sam-coffee-date-high, so he'd forgotten about most of what he'd wrote.

But, it hit him like a bullet a few moments later.

"Oh. Uh, yeah."

The teacher scratched at the back of his neck, looking bashful at best.

"You heard me?" Sam's voice was small, and he was blushing hard enough to heat an entire town.

Lucifer nodded.

"Were you... Spying on me?"

"God, Sam. Of course not!"

"Then why the hell were you listening to me jacking off?!"

"I just wanted my Milky Ways! Sam, it's wasn't on purpose! Besides, you totally saw my lube! Would you just shut up and keep reading?!"

Sam sighed, shaking his head and flipping over to the next page and picking up where he'd left off.

_'--whimpers. I could listen to those for hours. But, hey, I only stayed at the vending machine outside your room for a few minutes. That's not that creepy, is it? Hey, I was desperate for my Milky Way Bars. I wonder what your favorite snack is. Probably salad or something else healthy that tastes like cat shit.'_

"Salad isn't _that_ bad."

Lucifer groaned, rolling his eyes.

"You're kidding, right?"

"No. Now, shh. I have more to read."

"How are you so calm about all of this?"

"Because I spent nights staying up drunk eating waffles with my best friend fantasizing about you giving me this. And now it just happened. And I... Lucifer, I'm happy. I'm really fucking happy."

Lucifer was staring over at Sam with something like awe in his eyes. He didn't say anything else since Sam pretty much proved his point.

_'I don't really know why I'm writing this. It's not like I'd ever man up enough and actually say these things to you, or even give this stupid note to you. I've written so many, actually. They're all under my bed, the ones I never gave you. All of them have something similar, something I could never actually tell you. God, Sam. I'm terrified. And then I look into your bright eyes, and wow this is turning into some real sappy shit. Oh well. It's my time to man up.'_

Sam flipped the page over, desperately looking for the next set of words. He searched it again and again before finally looking up at Lucifer.

The blond was on him in the next moment, slamming him against he granite island behind him. His hands were on Sam's hips, holding him still.

"I don't want you to _ever_ doubt my feelings for you again, Sam Winchester."


	17. Chapter 17

The treacherous journey into Lucifer’s bedroom was a bumpy and sloppy one.

As were the kisses that the two men shared.

Sam, obviously more unexperienced, had no god diddly damn idea what he was doing. He lips were against Lucifer’s for the most part, simply open-mouthed and offering himself up to the blond with his hands on Sam’s hips.

Lucifer’s tongue was teasing it’s way into his mouth, and holy _shit_ that felt nice.

Well, up until Sam realized something very unusual.

He felt two little… Fleshy prongs… Poking against the side of his own tongue.

His eyes shot open, pushing Lucifer back just the slightest bit.

Sam was up against a wall, having previously been pushed against it by his teacher.

“What the _hell_ is wrong with your tongue?”

Lucifer furrowed his brow a little before chuckling and shaking his head in realization.

He actually forgot about it more than he should.

He was pretty used to it completely by the end of the first year, and now he barely even thought about the fact that he still had it.

He stuck out his tongue at him, smiling the best he could before closing his mouth.

“It’s forked, Sam. Believe it or not, I was in college too, once.” Lucifer smirked. “It’s more harmless than it looks.”

Sam licked his lips.

“What was all that about us being the same, then?”

Lucifer snickered, smirking dangerously before regaining his place against Sam. His lips were back on him in a few quick seconds, tongue eagerly sliding in and exploring his mouth all over again.

It was hot and wet and tasted exactly like Lucifer had imagined, if not better.

They’d barely been kissing for a minute and the older man knew he’d _never_ be able to get enough.

It was so strange kissing Sam, like absolutely nothing he’d ever experienced before. It was new and old all at once, but at the same time something completely intoxicating.

Nothing about these kisses tasted like a first.

First kisses are supposed to be rushed and shy and their lips are supposed to taste like absolutely nothing else.

But, Sam… Kissing Sam was like a finely practiced art that Lucifer had already spent _years_ perfecting.

When, in reality, it’d only been a few minutes.

He felt like he’d kissed Sam before, almost like they’d been, however sappy it may be, together in another life.

... _Cue the Katy Perry song_.

But, Lucifer could swear, when he kissed Sam, he could taste the next fifty years of his life.

Not that he’d ever admit that.

 

Through another circuitous journey and a feeble attempt to get to Lucifer’s bedroom, they only made a few feet of progress before Lucifer’s hands were on the backs of Sam’s thighs and lifting him up against the wall behind him.

Sam’s legs wrapped around his professor’s hips instinctively, hands burying themselves in that mess of sandy hair he’d been dying to touch for months.

It was soft and just a little coarse around the edges, just like Sam had pictured.

That wasn’t really helping the idea of this all just being some kind of cruel dream.

But, just the way that Lucifer was fucking devouring his mouth made it feel so goddamn real.

And, it was.

Lucifer was obviously having similar thoughts, because, Jesus Christ.

It was blatantly too good to be true.

“Sam,” Lucifer was panting, lips somehow ending up against the younger man’s neck.

His skin was wet from the blond’s kisses, and just the way his hot breath was ghosting over it made Sam shudder.

Not to mention the way their bodies meshed together _perfectly_.

“Want you to be sure about this.” He muttered, placing a few little nips and licks over Sam’s pulse point.

“ _Lucifer_ ,” Sam’s voice was nothing above a whimper, simply whining out in response.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m here, baby. Gonna take real good care of you.”

Lucifer’s voice was pure sex laced with a healthy dousing of sin.

Sam fucking loved it.

“Y-Yeah?” The younger man rasped out, head falling back against the wall behind him to give Lucifer more access to his neck.

“Mhm.”

“Then do it.”

It didn’t take them long to get to Lucifer’s bed after that, since he was carrying Sam on his shoulder and skipping over every single wall to seriously cut out a shit ton of potential makeout time.

But, Sam supposed they'd have more time later.

Hopefully.

Between the kisses being placed on his skin and just the way that his teacher was carrying him had Sam rock hard.

He was fucking _leaking in his pants_.

His cock was pulsating in his thin jeans, creating a tent so large a whole boy scout troop could probably camp in it.

The tent only grew larger when Lucifer laid him down on his bed.

In the moment he finally hit those silken sheets, he finally realized that this was all actually happening.

This wasn't just some late-night-too-much-coffee-induced-dream.

This was real.

Sam was really shirtless. And being lowered down onto his teachers fancy-ass bed that he'd been sleeping in just a few odd twenty minutes ago.

And he had a damn smile on his face.

He was _so_ fucked.

Lucifer had a lopsided grin on his face, his hair was ruffled to hell, and his shirt was somewhere on the floor down the long hallway.

He planned on taking his sweet time with Sam.

Slowly, he ran a hand down the younger man's chest, even around those damn near washboard abs of his.

“Beautiful.” He muttered, leaning down to place a few small kisses on the area where Sam’s neck met his shoulder.

The younger man was panting, breathing labored as he bucked his hips up just the slightest bit in an attempt to get any kind of friction.

Lucifer, being the asshole that he always had to be, avoided every attempt at touching his naughty bits.

“Slow down, Sammy. We’ve got time.”

“C-Can't… _Need_.”

“Sam, it's alright. I promise I'll take good care of you.” Lucifer licked his lips, sucking gently on the closest major artery.

Sam was squirming, arms flying up to bring Lucifer closer. His hand went to his hair, pulling lightly.

Lucifer, who decided to take pity on the poor boy, figured he deserved a little reward.

He rolled his hips down against Sam’s, their still-clothed, hard cocks rutting against one another for a single glorious moment.

Sam whimpered after that, nails digging into Lucifer’s scalp desperately.

“Shh. Daddy’s going to take good care of you, baby boy. I promise.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> butt things happen  
> you've been warned

Sam was sure he was dreaming.

Because, if he wasn't, he currently had his teacher rutting against him and down into his fancy-ass bed, calling himself ' _Daddy_ ' and kissing Sam's neck like he'd never been kissed before.

The fact that this was most likely a dream didn't stop him from moaning.

Lucifer, too. These beautiful goddamn noises were gritting their way past his slightly chapped lips.

They were rough and dangerous, even sounding somewhat like a growl on occasion. For the most part they were just grunts against the side of Sam's neck when he'd bite down on his ear, run his tongue along the shell, the like.

But, fuck.

Lucifer was grinding against him like his damn life depended on it.

His hips were rolling professionally, his hard, clothed cock sliding right against Sam's.

Eventually, he took pity on the boy.

"Roll over." He ordered, voice rough and demanding against Sam's damp skin.

The younger man hastily complied, limbs even flailing a bit from how quickly he rolled onto his stomach.

Lucifer chuckled throatily, finding little Sammy all too cute.

"Good boy." He praised, pressing small kisses from the bridge of Sam's shoulders down the middle and finally to the small of his back.

Sam squirmed, breathing in short, shallow breaths that barely filled half his lungs.

"Calm down, Sammy. You're fine. Just, you know, tell me to stop if you want. I promise I will."

" _Daddy_... Please... Please don't stop.”

Never in a million years would Sam Winchester ever think he'd be moaning that word.

Ever.

But, here he was, whimpering wantonly and pulling hard on his teacher’s bed sheets, begging to get fucked.

He'd never even considered the option of a daddy kink.

There was just... Something about him. And that word.

 

Something seemed to snap in Lucifer after that.

He got Sam's pants off in record time, shucking them across the room with his, oh god, _briefs_.

"Such a good little boy. So pretty for Daddy."

The praise felt incredible to Sam. His neck and back were flushed pink, and he could feel the blood pumping in his ears and fingertips. Lucifer's words only soothed his hot skin, the thin layer of sweat becoming cold and sending a shudder up his spine.

" _Daddy_ ,"

"Hush, Sammy. Daddy's here."

This whole... Whatever it was... Was turning kinkier by the second.

Sam was moaning out dirty, naughty things that he'd never say in even a slightly different situation.

...Unless it involved Mr. Morningstar, of course.

Lucifer was making honest plans to do all of those dirty, naughty things to this boy.

 _His_ boy.

God, the possibilities would be absolutely endless after this. And, fuck, was Lucifer excited to learn Sam inside and out.

And he slowly was.

Before another word was said or thought, both of Lucifer's hands were sliding down Sam's back at a slow pace. He eventually cradled those glorious orbs of flesh in his hands, gently kneading his ass before spreading those beautiful plump cheeks.

The older man felt his cock jump in his jeans.

"Fuck." He cursed under his breath, eyes fixed on that perfectly pink little hole of Sam's.

The brunette was squirming, feeling so open and exposed under Lucifer's hot touch.

"Just relax." His words were soft and calming as he rubbed his thumbs against the area where Sam's cheeks met the backs of his thighs.

Sam nodded blindly, reaching forward and pulling a pillow down to under his chin. He shuddered in anticipation, burying his flushed face into the cool underside of the pillow beneath him.

Lucifer didn't dare waste another second.

He was on his stomach, still kneading those firm mounds before scooting up a little and licking one, long stripe over Sam's hole.

Sam moaned into the pillow, eyes falling shut and hips rolling.

A dark chuckle came from Lucifer.

He was back on him in a few seconds, hungrily lapping at his tight, puckered little hole.

His forked tongue was doing sinful things to this boy, sliding around the rim and dipping in every few moments.

Sam was practically rutting into the sheets, a complete moaning mess by the time Lucifer pulled away.

He whined in protest, nails digging into the silken sheets so roughly he'd probably care about tearing them if he was in a frame of mind that wasn't: ' _Lucifer, Lucifer, Lucifer..._ '

The older man was enjoying himself just as much as Sam was.

He licked his lips once he pulled back, squeezing those round cheeks one more time before moving one of his hands to in between them. He gently pressed the tip of his index to his hole, running it teasingly around his rim.

"A-Ah!"

Sam bucked his hips again, loving everything about how the silk felt against his hard, leaking cock.

Lucifer chuckled again, very slowly pushing the finger inside of him.

Sam was panting, clenching around the digit inside of him.

And that was it.

The fact that someone else was inside of him.

...The fact that it was _Lucifer_.

Sam almost lost it at the goddamn thought alone.

Lucifer must have sensed it, quickly pushing one more finger inside of Sam probably a little too roughly.

He started to make slight scissoring motions, starting to gently stretch Sam out.

He whined in response, having not been exposed to anything this intimate or strange before. When he'd fingered himself those few times, it wasn't quite this slow and passionate. It was just Sam shoving his fingers into himself in an attempt to picture Lucifer doing it. But, now… Now it was all so different.

Lucifer was gentle, caring, and he knew what he was fucking doing.

Just as Sam’s mind began to drift again, he was pulled from his thoughts by Lucifer’s fingers brushing over… _Something_.

Something that made Sam jump and squirm, crying out absolutely desperately.

“W-What was t-that?!” He panted, shuddering and clamping down even harder on Lucifer’s fingers.

“Your prostate.” He grumbled out in response, right before jamming both of his fingers into again Sam, hitting his pleasure button dead on.

The younger man cried out, whimpering and burying his face further into the pillow.

"Calm down, baby. We're just getting started."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry mom


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "MAY THE BUTTFUCKING COMMENCE"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, hi. I know it's been like two weeks since I updated or whatever, but I'm kind of losing interest in writing this. So I'm probably gonna end it on chapter 20. I wanted to continue this for a while, make it really naughty and shit in class but like... I don't know. I'm kind of bored with it.

Whines, moans, and soft gasps were the only sounds heard in the large apartment.

Sam was barely aware of the ticking clock on the wall, seconds trickling away so much slower than normal.

His entire world was slowed down, replacing coherent time with absolute and complete pleasure filled moments that felt like _hours_.

They felt like they were drawing on forever, but somehow were always gone too quickly.

Each small stroke of Sam's prostate had him crying out, so damn close to just letting go.

But he didn't.

He held on, burying his face into the pillow and bucking his hips desperately down against the satin beneath his leaking prick.

There were three fingers inside of Sam now.

Lucifer was working them expertly, memorizing every little place inside of Sam that made him buck his hips or moan or _squirm_.

He was stretching him apart easily, fucking his fingers into him faster and faster with each thrust.

 

...Eventually Lucifer got the message that Sam couldn't fucking take anymore.

He pulled his fingers out slowly, making sure to drag them down along his balls a bit for good measure. Sam was squirming, his little butt wiggling desperately as he panted and whimpered.

Whispering soft words of comfort, Lucifer got up off the bed and walked over to his nightstand. He knelt down, opening the bottom drawer, which was always stocked with his toys. He pulled out a small container of lube and a condom from the sex drawer, licking his lips as he stood back up.

He crawled back onto the bed, pushing off his pants and boxers clumsily on the way back over to his boy.

"You sure you wanna do this, Sam?" He asked huskily, running a hand down Sam's back in attempt to soothe his nerves and that flushed, hot skin of his.

The kid’s desire was practically radiating off him.

"Y-Yes."

Lucifer just smiled, brushing his hand gently over Sam’s gloriously round, plump asscheeks. He pulled his hand away all too soon, ripping the condom wrapper with his teeth and slipping the rubber on with a skilled precision.

Sam looked back when he heard the sound, eyes widening when he saw Lucifer’s cock.

“Why... Why did you put that on? I’m clean… I’ve never…”

“It’s for your comfort, not mine. I got tested last week.”

“Then take it off.”

“Sam… We can do that another time if you want, okay? I’m not fucking you raw your first time. I’m supposed to be a good influence on you.”

Sam just pouted, laying his head back down on his pillow.

Well, Lucifer’s pillow, technically.

But, Christ did Sam want it to be his own.

Mind always drifting, Sam allowed himself to wonder what would happen after this.

Would this just be a one time thing?

Would he want more from Sam?

A relationship?

More sex?

Sam stopped that train of thought quickly, plummeting back down to the real world.

Lucifer squeezed some lube onto his palm, stroking his cock until it was coated in a thin layer and allowing his head to fall back. He wet his lips, letting out a small grunt before pulling himself back to his equally beautiful reality.

He spread Sam’s cheeks a final time, pushing his lubed fingers into of his open little hole once again.

Sam groaned lowly, obviously disappointed it wasn’t Lucifer’s cock.

But, soon enough, the older man was satisfied with the job he’d done.

Slowly, he lined himself up at Sam’s entrance.

“We can still stop, Sam.”

“Don’t you _fucking dare_.”

“Jeez. Alright. Brace yourself.”

Sam took a deep breath.

“Is it.. Is it gonna fit?”

“Well, we’re about to find out.”

Lucifer pressed his tip to Sam’s rim, running it around the ring before finally, fucking _finally_ , pushing inside of him.

Sam was crying out, mouth agape as a breathless, surprised gasp escaped his lips.

He wasn’t sure why he was surprised. He knew Lucifer’s dick was thick enough to rip him in half.

Sam was pulled out of his thoughts by the sound of his teacher moaning, which sounded like absolute perfection to him. His voice was low and gritty, obviously trying to be quiet about it.

“Still okay, kiddo?”

“Y-Yeah… M’fine…”

Lucifer didn't waste time responding, simply sliding the whole way into Sam. He tried to do it slowly, but he couldn't fuckin’ help himself.

Now that he was completely sheathed inside the younger man, he took his damn time placing gentle, barely-there kisses all over his boy’s upper back and shoulders. He was still for just a while longer, feeling those tight walls of his morphing and adjusting around his cock.

It was probably a better feeling for Sam, in his own opinion.

Of course it burned at first.

But, fuck, having that big, heavy cock completely inside of him… It took every ounce of Sam’s control not to completely lose it right there.

Lucifer waited until he got the word from Sam to move.

And, eventually, he got it.

“ _Please_.”

Sam’s voice was completely wrecked, absolutely desperate and obscenely wanton.

Sam had never heard himself sound like that before.

“Shh, Sammy. Daddy’s gonna give you just what you want.”

Without another word Lucifer slowly pulled out of Sam.

The younger man whined, obviously distressed and thinking he’d done something wrong.

However, not one moment later, Lucifer slammed his slick cock back into his boy.

Sam cried out, hands gripping the sheets below him so tight he could definitely hear the stitches breaking apart.

Their progress after that rocketed to the end zone about as fast as could be expected for a barely-twenty-year-old and an old man who hadn’t fucked an ass this tight in _years_.

The teacher’s hips were rolling into Sam with a dangerously steady rhythm that was rapidly getting faster, and eventually brushing over that spot inside of Sam and holy _fuck_.

 _Angles_.

All the pain was gone rather quickly from how damn good of a job Lucifer had done while prepping him, making up for the lost feeling with one of the most intense fits of pleasure Sam had ever felt.

He'd never felt anything like this before.

He felt so full, so absolutely perfect and at peace with everything in his life.

Sam was a mess of moans and whimpers, having absolutely no off switch. He was practically screaming out his wants and needs, all of which mixed in with delicious pants of Lucifer’s name.

His professor was pressing kisses along his back and shoulders still, eventually up to his neck and nibbling on his pulse point.

...And then Lucifer started whispering in his ear.

“You like that, baby boy?” His voice is as low and husky as ever, yet still so damn smooth it should probably be illegal.

“Love having Daddy ramming into you like the little cock slut you are… I bet you want Daddy’s cum inside of you, don't you? Clogging up your tiny, little used hole. I think I might plug it up when I'm done with you. Maybe even make you wear it during class. Make it so you can always feel Daddy’s hot cum sloshing around inside of you, filling up your belly. How's that sound, baby? Would you like that?”


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know. I suck big time. So, I've decided to completely give up with this. I have bigger and better ideas, and I'm honestly pretty bored with this. So, this is the last chapter. About halfway through is gonna be the prologue because I'm lazy as fuck. However, if anyone would actually want it, I could always write a few one shots of Sam and Lucifer's adventures. Maybe getting a dog or perhaps vibrating buttplugs in the classroom. Hmm. I don't know. Hit me the fuck up, enjoy this shitty last chapter.

Sam didn’t have time to respond.  
  
He was too busy having the best goddamn orgasm of his entire life.  
  
The sinful mixture of the dirty words Lucifer was currently whispering into his ear and the dick fluidly ramming into his overly-sensitive prostate made him tumble head over heels across the edge, resulting in a complete mess on the sheets below him.  
  
Sam was reeling.  
  
He would've swore he could feel Lucifer’s heartbeat inside of him.  
  
His mind was racing, black except for the thoughts of _yes, oh God, there… Please don’t stop! Yes!_  
  
Sam hadn’t realized he’d been saying those words aloud, but he most certainly was.  
  
...And Lucifer was grunting above him, biting down on the meat of his shoulder as he came right after him.  
  
The feeling of Sam’s walls clenching around him, knowing he’d done everything in his power to make this boy feel incredible, the feeling of _finally_.   
  
It was all too much for him.  
  
His soft grunts turned to husky moans against Sam’s skin, hips still rocking into him as he finally finished.  
  
Eventually, all their noises dulled out and Lucifer slowly pulled himself out of Sam.  
  
Painfully slowly.  
  
Sam was numb.  
  
He was holding onto his pillow for dear life, falling face first back down to Earth.  
  
Lucifer tied off the condom, shuddering a little after taking it off. He tossed it into a nearby trash can, praying it didn’t explode.  
  
Sam was practically dead to the world by then, eyes closed as he enjoyed his post-orgasm.  
  
He was rapidly becoming aware of the drying cum underneath him, however.  
  
“You’re gonna have to move, y'know.”  
  
Lucifer’s husky voice dragged him back to reality, simply mumbling in a feeble response.  
  
“Can't move. Too sleepy.”  
  
The sound of his teacher chuckling sent warmth throughout his veins.  
  
“At least roll over. I'll clean you up.”  
  
Sam grumbled out something incoherent, giving up and just rolling onto his back.  
  
Lucifer’s not on the bed when he looks down, expecting to see him.  
  
He was in the bathroom, grabbing a warm wash rag. He walked back in, true to his word as he cleans up Sam and the cum-stained bed.  
  
It's strangely intimate, getting your junk cleaned of jizz by your Mythology professor.  
  
  
“How are you even walking?” Sam asked, genuinely curious as he watched his teacher leave the room yet again.  
  
“Because I didn't just take a dick up my ass. And, no offense, but that isn't the first time I've ever had a good fuck.” Lucifer just shrugged, walking back over to the bed and getting back on.  
  
Sam instantly crawls to his side, wrapping an arm around his torso and nuzzling against his neck.  
  
And, surprisingly, Lucifer didn't tense up. If anything he seemed to relax, wrapping an arm around Sam and kissing his forehead.  
  
They didn't speak, only breathed each other’s air and shared the same space.  
  
They stayed like that for a long while, simply listening to the other’s heartbeat and kissing at soft, sweat dried skin.  
  
Their lips were kiss raw for hours as they rested against one another.  
  
  
And, they stayed like that. For a long time.  
  
  
Until the time when Sam had to inevitably leave, go off to study or soccer practice or something that Lucifer would forever curse.  
  


* * *

  
Sam graduated from Stanford University three years later.  
  
He made sure to make room in his schedule for Mythology with Professor Morningstar all three years.  
  
About a year passed before Sam got his next note.  
  
One, under his pillow, in he and Lucifer’s apartment.   
  
  
**October 14th, 2015**  
  
 _‘I love you, Sam Winchester.’  
_  
  
Sam Winchester and Lucifer Morningstar became official the day he graduated.  
  
  
That day Sam received his next note in the glove compartment of the car Lucifer had bought him as a graduation present.  
  
  
 **February 22nd, 2017**  
  
 _‘Will you marry me? Also, get milk and eggs on your way home. :) xoxo.'_  
  
Sam got the eggs and milk.  
  
And he totally said _yes_ as soon as he got home.  
  
  
After the honeymoon, Lucifer and Sam decided on getting a dog.  
  
Sam, having always wanted a dog of his own, was the most excited.  
  
They got a collie named Grace.  
  
Lucifer grew to love her, eventually dubbing her as his favorite creature in their household, absolutely above Sam.  
  
But Sam was so okay with that.  
  
  
Sam got his first job a few months after the wedding, practicing law like he always wanted.  
  
Lucifer showed him just how proud he was that night.  
  
  
Dean kept in touch with his little brother, totally hitting it off with Lucifer. The two of them actually became friends, meeting up every few months for poker night.  
  
Sam couldn't be happier about it.  
  
  
And that's how he stayed.  
  
 _Happy_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanna honestly thank you all so much for reading and sticking with me. 
> 
> I'll be posting another samifer fic eventually, if you're into that kind of thing.

**Author's Note:**

> Updates should be weekly or more, it really just depends on my schedule.  
> Comments are appreciated I love you.


End file.
